Scarred Heart in Hand
by crimson-obsidian-rose
Summary: Sometimes graduation just is what it is, and you have to figure the rest out for yourselves. Gauken Hetalia!AU fic, multiple pairings, bad touch trio-centric with lots of background noise.
1. Part I Chapter I

A/N: It has been a while since I've posted anything on this site, huh? To be honest, the poor reception of my last fic was a bit discouraging; I don't mind getting concrit at all, but when people outright bash a fic of mine because of a stylistic choice, that hurts a little.

At any rate, I've put that behind me for the time being. This fic is the one I wrote for National Novel Writing Month; I won by passing 50,000 words in 28 days. I really hope that you all enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Seriously, I don't own Hetalia.

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Scarred Heart in Hand **– Part I Chapter I

"I still can't believe we made it to graduation."

Francis chuckled at Antonio's incredulous tone, taking a sip from his glass and eyeing his friends impishly.

"Neither can I," he agreed, "and I never thought that Gilbert would actually be graduating with us, if we made it to the day."

Antonio laughed airily, patting Gilbert on the shoulder when the albino shot Francis a glare. The trio was sitting in the corner of Francis' bedroom, squashed on two beanbag seats that were probably older than they were; a table lamp nearby was the only source of light. This had been their unofficial hangout for ages; ever since the play dates of their early days of elementary school, they counted on the fact that Francis' parents were rarely ever home and spent most of their time at his house as a result.

"He's only teasing you, Gil, no need to get violent."

Gilbert scowled, if only jokingly, "I'm only mad because I gotta drink this pissy excuse for alcohol. I'm Prussian, dammit, I need a beer!"

Francis shrugged, reaching over to his desk and pulling a bottle out from within. It was half full and warm to the touch, but Gilbert's expression split into something gleeful, almost manic.

"You left this here last time. You were too… distracted, to finish it."

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" The albino chanted, snatching the bottle away and sighing in ecstasy at the first gulp of brew.

Antonio, still smiling, leaned back into his seat with a heavy sigh, emerald eyes falling shut as his thumb traced the rim of his wine glass absently.

"I just… can't believe it's over."

Francis suspected he heard a tinge of regret in the other's voice, and for some reason his throat suddenly dried. Gilbert answered instead, narrowing his eyebrows,

"Nothing's 'over'. You heard all those old guys making speeches earlier; this is only the beginning."

"It's not that…" Antonio trailed off, not even offering a giggle in response to Gilbert's exaggerated voice.

The room was suddenly filled with a tense silence, broken when Gilbert turned and ruffled the other's curly brown hair.

"You're too worried about this shit for nothing. We've been together for fifteen years, and something as stupid as graduation isn't going to change us."

Antonio finally cracked a smile, but for some reason the tense feeling did not leave Francis. He surveyed his two friends, sitting opposite him and sharing their favorite oversized bean bag chair; Gilbert's tie was sticking out of his pocket, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest and his gown pooled around his body. His hair was, as always, a mess, and there was the ever-present wild look in his eyes, hardly subdued even as he took another gulp of beer. By contrast Antonio was much more relaxed, leaning back in his seat, his own tie hanging undone around his neck and his black gown hanging around his shoulders, still not fallen away from his body.

Francis looked away, eyes falling shut as he took another sip of his wine, the full-bodied Bourdeaux leaving his mouth feeling thick.

"Francis…?" He heard Antonio murmur, and he opened his eyes again to meet the other's brimming with concern. Gilbert scoffed, leaning over and rapping him gently on the forehead.

"You've got Toni worried, you sissy. I'm telling you, nothing is gonna change. You're still gonna be a priss and a freak, and Antonio's always gonna be naïve and easy to take advantage of," he paused, turning to the brunet beside him. "You should really work on that, by the way. Unless it's me."

Francis finally chuckled, "And you will always be…?"

"Awesome," he shrugged, but his usual smirk was plastered to his face. Setting his empty beer bottle aside, he asked offhandedly, "Hiding anymore beer from me?"

"Regretfully not."

"Then I guess I've got no choice; pass me some of that prissy fruit juice you call alcohol."

Antonio handed Gilbert his glass, the other finishing it off in a sip. Francis refilled the glass, noting,

"You don't have to share it, you know. If there are any things my parents have a lot of, it's wine and wine glasses."

"And money."

Francis and Antonio snorted in unison.

"Whaaaat? Not like it isn't true."

Francis nodded, "Your bluntness becomes you."

"Damn straight it does. Irresistible, huh Toni?" he laughed, raising his eyebrows at the other. Antonio smiled and ran his fingers in the other's messy hair.

"Oh, most definitely."

They all fell silent once again, but this time it was light and relaxing. Francis could, for a moment, imaging falling asleep in the dim lighting and with the slight buzz of alcohol giving everything a warm, hazy feel.

He shook it off, though, and gave his friend a look.

"You know, it is funny to hear that from you."

Antonio raised an eyebrow, "From Gilbert? The one with an ego the size of Russia?"

"Hey, don't compare me to that evil country! They're the ones who killed Prussia!"

"Prussia didn't exist then, Gilbert. It hasn't existed since World War I," Francis replied calmly, having heard this argument too many times.

"Well, East Germany was its last hope and Russia squashed it like an itty bitty cockroach. Probably jealous because their history is not as gloriously awesome as ours."

"Gilbert," The blond sighed, rolling his eyes. "You're _German_."

"_East _German!"

"On your mother's side, Gilbert, and East Germany is not Prussia."

Gilbert huffed, crossing his arms over his chest after stealing another large gulp of Antonio's wine.

"Yeah, well, Russians are creepy anyways! Like that kid Ivan, he's abso-fuckin-lutely creepy! And his sister Nat, she's in class with Ludwig and she's fucking insane!"

"His other sister is nice, though…" Antonio mused, and Gilbert turned to him with wild eyes.

"She's probably not Russian!"

Francis hit Gilbert over the head with the closest thing he could find, his graduation cap. While it didn't hurt, it did have the desired effect of subduing the other, making him plop back down beside Antonio, crossing his arms over his chest like an angry child.

"So, what were you gonna say before about it being weird that Gilbert talked about how sexy he was?"

"Oh, yes," Francis sat up straighter, "I was just thinking about a time when mentioning anything about sex to Gilbert sent him running to the hills."

Gilbert pouted as Antonio nodded, "Oh yeah! That was pretty funny, actually, you'd always turn really red and start yelling and promising you'd get new friends."

"That's not true! I didn't like it when you got all lovey-dovey with other people; it's gross."

"But if it's with you…?" Francis teased.

"Perfectly understandable."

The trio dissolved into laughter, light chuckles that filled the big empty room with life it never had when Francis was alone.

"I remember," Francis started when the laughter had faded back to mellowness, "when we were in the third grade and I started dating Chelles. And you were so offended by us; you could not stand the sight of me even if she was not around. You made all the boys tease us and you never allowed me to play with you."

Gilbert, his ears pink at the very tips, huffed as if embarrassed by the memory.

"You only 'dated' her because she liked to show you her panties. I was saving you from a slut!"

Francis only seemed mildly offended, "But Antonio didn't mind us. Perhaps you were just jealous?"

"I was not jealous! I did you a favor, anyways. She was bad news for you. She kept stealing your funny looking hats."

"She stole my berets as a way of flirting, Gilbert. Surely someone as knowledgeable as you in that realm would have picked up on that by now."

Gilbert frowned, expression verging on a scowl, earning him another soft, tender pat on the head from Antonio. That made his mood brighten significantly as he retorted,

"She was bad news for you, Franny. She made you act all girly when you should have been messing with the guys. Everyone thought you were gay."

"Newsflash, Gilbert, I am gay," Francis snickered. "And you're only jealous because I got to see a cute girl's panties every single day for two weeks. Or maybe you were jealous of her…?"

"Pfft, as if. Your dick now is nothing to brag about, so I shudder to think how small it must've been back then."

It was Francis' turn to frown, "You never complained about my size mid-coitus. And we cannot all be as well endowed as you burly Germans…"

"Don't worry Francis, I'm sure Gilbert's only saying that because he doesn't want you to finish the story. After all, next is the part where you-"

"-We all know what happens next!" Gilbert shouted, slapping his hand over the Spaniard's mouth rather violently. Behind the pale palm, Antonio cried out in pain.

Francis smirked deviously, "Oh, do you mean when I kissed Chelles just to spite Gilbert? And then when I ran over and kissed him, so that he would have girl cooties as well?"

"That was my first kiss, dammit! And it was totally wasted on you!"

It was Antonio who frowned, now. "Come on, Gil, it's not like he meant harm. And he is your best friend."

Gilbert grumbled, looking back at Francis, only to find that he'd stood up. He followed him with his eyes as the other went into his closet.

"Franny…? Come on, man, you know I didn't mean it."

Francis didn't reply, but a moment later he emerged from his closet with an old, crumpled cardboard box in hand. He dropped it down between their seats, and opened the dusty cover.

"Man, what is this crap?" Gilbert spluttered between his coughs. Francis reached his hand in, and pulled out the very same beret he had worn everyday in the second grade, after a summer vacation spent in France.

"Our memories," he answered simply, pulling his beanbag chair closer to the box and the others, taking another sip of his wine and sighing. "Everything that I managed to save over the past fifteen years."

"Wow," Antonio murmured appreciatively, pulling out a paddleball toy Gilbert had won at a carnival in seventh grade. The string had snapped, and so the albino had tossed it; he had no idea Francis rescued it.

"Oh, mine!" Gilbert said quickly, snatching the game and paddling effortlessly, a laugh escaping his lips as he beamed.

Francis and Antonio laughed as well, and Francis smiled warmly.

"You know, Gilbert, I really enjoyed our kiss."

The ball suddenly stopped bouncing.

"Of course you did, Francis, who wouldn't enjoy kissing the awesome me?" He chuckled, but it sounded painfully forced.

"Well, it's not like Chelles was very good competition; her lips tasted like tuna. And, I must say, I find it amusing that after all these years, you are still shy about your devious deeds with your own best friends."

"M'not shy," Gilbert insisted, despite the pink color dusting over the tips of his ears. "I just…"

When Gilbert trailed off, Antonio tilted his head and gave the other a strange look, before leaning in and pecking him on the lips chastely, quickly.

"You know, you don't have to worry about our friendship being ruined or anything. We're the same as we've always been."

There was another silence, and this time Francis broke it solemnly, "Does either of you feel like… this is the beginning of the end?"

"Nah," Gilbert replied nonchalantly, flicking his wrist. "Remember that Disney crap they kept spewing at us before? 'This is only the beginning,' 'Live out your dreams,' 'Love lasts forever'? I feel like I'm repeating myself, Franny, but nothing is over. Hell, you'd think the last 18 years didn't matter and that our lives are only just starting from the way they preached at us before."

"That's not what I meant, exactly. But, as clichéd as the speeches were, the speakers were right; everything is destined for change. And we three have avoided it for far too long, now… I wonder if it is possible for us to still remain us while everything else is tossed into turmoil…"

"Francis…" Antonio whispered, getting up and sitting on his knees in front of the box before him, his black gown fluttering and pooling around him as he dug his hands in.

A moment later, he came out with a piece of crumpled, folded paper in hand. Leaning forward, he pressed it into Francis' lap sitting back down with his signature, tender smile.

It was, when unfolded, a faded valentine. Scribbles of pink and red crayon all over the once neat white page, hearts and flowers and a sloppily scrawled message on top of them:

_Deer Francis,_

_Yu is my bestest frend! I luv yu!_

_-Antonio_

Despite the sudden shock of loneliness and the foreboding sense of loss that had stricken him, Francis could not help but smile as he read the paper, chuckling softly.

"You never could remember how to write your 'r's."

Antonio shrugged, still smiling, and plopped backwards, his ass landing on the floor.

"How did you know I still had this?"

"I didn't. But I figured you must have kept something around, since you have a whole box of stuff."

"Yeah, yeah, Franny's a packrat and Toni is a sap. Why can't we just get drunk off our asses and then fool around some? I didn't come here to spend time with two old ladies; if I wanted that, I would've stayed home."

"You might have no problems with 'fooling around some,' Gilbert, but there are others of us who are taken," Francis started, raising his eyebrows. "Besides, why fool around when we would be reminiscing over all your most embarrassing moments?"

Gilbert sniggered, getting up from the beanbag chair as well and ruffled Francis' hair none too gently, causing the long blond strands to tickle his cheeks.

"I don't have any embarrassing moments. I'm too awesome for that."

"Oh? Because I can think of a few…"

"Just can it, Toni," Gilbert muttered, grabbing the half empty bottle of wine and taking a swig directly out of it (Francis shuddered). "I'll let you old ladies get back to thinking about the good old days when we picked our noses and stuck the boogers on Roderich's coat, but I need to get buzzed first."

They shared another laugh, the memory of Roderich's horrified and disgusted face when he found his beloved coat so dirtied still fresh in their minds.

"Mmm," Antonio hummed, finishing his glass of wine and lying down on the floor, spreading his gowned body across the carpet like an angel garbed in black. "Roderich…"

"He was your first boyfriend, was he not? Your first relationship?"

Even Francis was surprised by his own daring, wondering for the first time how much the alcohol had actually affected him. But his surprise was nothing compared to Gilbert's, who's mouth hung open for a moment before he took another swig and remembered to close it.

"He was," Antonio consented, his eyes remaining closed and the barest hint of a smile on his face. It was a strange thing to see him so calm, given the conversation; Francis and Gilbert had tried for years to get Antonio to speak of his relationship with the Austrian boy, but nothing, not even alcohol, had ever kept him from clamming up at the mention of the other's name.

They, Francis and Gilbert, remained silent for a long moment, waiting to see if Antonio was going to say anything else. Sure enough, his emerald eyes opened ever so slightly, his dark bangs hanging over them as if to block them from view.

"I'm not sure," he started in a soft whisper, "but I think I loved him."

Francis hummed in acknowledgment, not wanting to distract the other from his story with a questioning statement; Antonio was rarely ever so serious, so still, and when he was it meant he was delving deep into himself to find the words he needed to say what he wanted. From the corner of his eye, Francis could see that Gilbert looked frustrated, jaw locked and grip tight around the neck of the wine bottle.

"He was nice to me, you know? Not that you guys weren't, but… well, you weren't exactly that supportive either. Like when my voice cracked and you teased me or when I got really tall and you called me Mr. Fantastic…"

Of course, Francis realized, Antonio had been the first of them to hit puberty, at the tender young age of 13, and from some mix of amusement and jealousy he and Gilbert had not been very kind about it. In his defense, he hadn't known it was upsetting him.

"But Roderich didn't do any of that stuff," he continued. "He was just… nice. Well, I guess sometimes he called me an idiot and smacked me on the head and stuff, but other than that he was nice. He's a pretty good kisser, too."

He trailed off, a smile tugging at his lips. It faded away quickly, though, and Antonio added, "Of course, Gilbert wasn't happy with us. You stopped talking to me and you sorta resented me, too. It made me feel bad, and I figured you were more important that someone I really didn't know, so…"

Francis furrowed his eyebrows, recalling a few instances when Gilbert had shown obvious disgust in Antonio's taste, but it was nothing worse than what he had gone through from the other when he was dating Chelles. As if reading his mind, Antonio added.

"And since Francis was spending all of his time flirting with Arthur, I guess Gilbert was just lonely, so it's fine, really. Besides, Roderich is happy now with Elizaveta, and I'm got my cute little Lovi!"

"How can it be fine," Gilbert started slowly, his voice tense and clipped, "if you let me get in the way of you being happy with someone, even if I hated his guts? I thought you broke up because it wasn't working out for you!"

Antonio sat back up, his gown finally slipping away from his body, and gave the albino a soft look; Francis could not help but feel like an outsider.

"You were more important to me. Besides, it makes sense that if we both wanted the same boyfriend, neither of us should have him."

Oh, now Antonio was being devious; Francis grinned, and Gilbert blew up, as expected.

"I didn't want him! I would never have wanted such a prissy bastard! You were wrong!"

"Gilbert, there is no point in denying it," Francis cut in, and the other huffed. After a moment of pouting and grumbling, however Gilbert sighed dramatically.

"Why're we so fucked up? Why can't we just beat the crap out of each other and share food like normal guys?"

"Because we've had sex, _ mon cher_. With each other, multiple times, both as threesomes and as couples."

"I don't think so," Antonio countered quickly. "I don't think us having sex affected our relationship all that much. We were meant to be this way, regardless. And it doesn't really matter, since I wouldn't change you guys for the world."

Despite themselves, and the melancholy moods instilled in them by the bitter alcohol, Francis and Gilbert could not help but smile back at Antonio. The latter leaned over, punched Antonio lightly in the arm, as he laughed, "You _girl_."

Francis shook his head lightly, then reached into the box once more and pulled out a framed photo.

"Look at this," he called, and then he strode over to plop directly between his friends, warmth from their shoulders permeating their layers of clothing and heating him up in the late June evening; Francis didn't mind.

In his hands he was holding onto their class photo from the fifth grade, the pre-pubescent faces of twenty of their friends and longtime classmates smiling back at them.

"Oh wow, we were small," Gilbert hummed, poking the photo under where the three of them stood, dead center. "Franny still had all his baby fat!" He laughed derisively, but reached up and tugged at the blond's thin cheeks jovially, until Francis dropped the photo and slapped his hands away. Antonio scooped it up from the other's lap as Francis rubbed his reddened cheeks gently.

"This feels like forever ago… aw, look, Heracles is sleeping!"

"Pffft, when isn't he? I'll bet Sadiq's got a Sharpie in his pocket, or else he wouldn't've been standing so close to him. Where's Gupta?"

"He did not move in until freshman year of high school, remember? Before that these two were always at each other's throats, and when Gupta came in he saved us all from another four years of listening to them go at it."

"Oh yeah," Antonio agreed, before prodding the picture again, at the person beside Francis. "This was the year Arthur moved to our school, right?"

Francis nodded, humming as he stroked a finger absently down the cheek of the small English boy. "He used to be so cute-"

"Except for the eyebrows-"

"-I wonder what happened…"

Antonio giggled, "Don't let him hear you say that."

"Don't let me hear him say what, exactly?"

A new voice chimed in, as the door to Francis' bedroom swung open. Arthur strode in, still immaculately dressed in his graduation robe, black shoes freshly shined, catching the dim light. His black slacks were pressed, his shirt collar stiff where it stuck out of the gown, and he was still wearing his cap, the tassel brushing across his cheek whenever he moved.

Francis stood suddenly, shaking off the sensation of dizziness (had he really drunken so much?) and flicked his wrist as if waving the matter away. Arthur gave him a sharp look.

"Nothing bad, _mon cher_, just commenting on how lovely your speech was this morning. We all know how reluctant to accept compliments, which is why Antonio made that comment."

Arthur rolled his eyes, poking the French boy none too gently in the chest. Francis took a step back, only barely managing to keep his footing due to his less-than-sober state.

"I heard him-" here he pointed snappishly at Gilbert, "-mention my eyebrows. I'm not stupid, Francis, and don't try to sweet talk me into acting as such."

Francis chuckled, and Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"We were talking about how totally un-cute and un-sexy you are. And I was about to add, it just goes to show how crappy Francis' taste it that he makes out with you regularly."

Arthur spluttered, turning red in the face and coughing into his fist. "As if. I don't want frog germs on my lips. I'd rather kiss Alfred-"

"-And you have, haven't you?" Gilbert grinned demonically. Arthur paused, as if contemplating whether or not this was worth his anger, and he apparently decided against it. Instead he turned to Antonio, taking a second graduation cap that he had under his arm, barely visible against the large sleeves of the same colored gown.

"This is yours," he stated, tossing it to the other like a Frisbee; it landed in Antonio's lap and he grinned. "I found it as we were cleaning up after the ceremony."

Antonio picked it up, looking on the inside label to find his name written in Sharpie in his messy scrawl, just as he had expected. It had been his Abuela's idea to write this name inside his cap so that he could find it after he tossed it, but in the mob of excited graduates his cap was the only of the trio's that had not returned.

"Thanks, Arthur," he smiled, almost surprised by the other's kindness; after a few soccer matches in their freshman year, of which they were opposing team captains, the two hadn't been on very good terms. Arthur returned the smile, nodding and then turning to leave the room once again.

"Well then, I'll be on my wa-"

"-Arthur," Francis interrupted, "are you coming here straight from school?"

"Yes, I am."

"And you have been there since the commencement ceremony?" Francis' tone verged on incredulous; outside, the Sun could faintly be seen as little more than a sliver of red hidden by pink and orange clouds.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "Of course."

Gilbert caught on, "But that ended like eight hours ago!"

"I stayed late to help clean up," Arthur shrugged. "Last duty as Student Council President."

"But Arthur, you are not the President anymore. Kiku Honda and Toris Laurinaitis are the ones responsible for that, now."

"…I know," he murmured, "I just figured… it was the last thing I could do. I guess I just don't want to let go yet…"

Suddenly he looked up, and when Arthur saw three sets of eyes all giving him strange looks, in that all of them were far more sympathetic than he'd ever seen them, of course, he turned away and scowled.

"Never mind…" Then, "I'm going home now. Night, all. Try not to get drunk off your arses; Elizaveta is expecting you all tomorrow afternoon."

"Stay," Francis commanded suddenly, gently, grabbing a hold of the other's arm. "We were just looking at our old class photo, and maybe you'd like to reminisce with us?"

Arthur paused again, eyes flickering between the door and Francis. He sighed, and shook his head ruefully. "I'd best be going. I expect my brothers will be waiting for me."

Gilbert snorted, running his thumb absently over the neck of the wine bottle, only a few dredges left in it.

"Your brothers?" he repeated. "They're the ones more likely to be drunk off their asses. They probably think that the armchair is you, or some shit like that."

He sniggered, before realizing belatedly he'd made an argument for Arthur to stay with them. The other three seemed to have come to the same realization, as they all gave him looks of confusion.

"Anyways," Arthur said, "Even though you are probably right about them, I do think I should be going. Best to leave you three to do… whatever it is you do."

Francis frowned, and squeezing the arm he was holding onto, he wrapped his free arm around the other's waist. Then, leaning in, he pressed their lips together in a deep, coaxing kiss, eliciting an unguarded, soft moan from the tired boy. However, once he heard himself make the sound, Arthur pulled away and tugged his arm back from Francis.

"I-I'm going now. D-Don't try to stop me!" he stuttered, and the door was slammed shut behind him as he rushed out. Francis sighed, plopping back in his comfy chair, disappointment obvious on his face. Gilbert laughed.

"Hey, on the bright side, he didn't get mad at you for it this time. This is a step forward in your relationship!" Antonio offered, moving to wrap an arm around the blond's shoulder comfortingly.

Gilbert snorted obnoxiously, "Says the guy who's dating a boy that knees him in the nuts after every kiss. You're a real relationship expert, Toni."

"Lovi's just shy," Antonio frowned. "He doesn't do it as much anymore…"

Francis chuckled, and offered Gilbert a roll of his eyes, "You can talk when you are finally in a relationship of your own. If that ever happens…"

Antonio and Francis shared a smirk, and Gilbert pouted, before diving for the abandoned class photo.

"Let's see here... out of the 15 people that've been in our grade, I've made out with… one, two, three… seven. And that's not counting the underclassmen, either. Or the people I've made out with that've already graduated."

He flaunted the photo in the faces of the other two, looking particularly triumphant.

"Seven? Wow, Gilbert, I'm impressed. Mind if I ask who?"

Still smirking, Gilbert called out as he pointed, "Heracles, Sadiq, Vash, you two idiots, Elizaveta, and…"

There was an "oh shit" expression on his face, and Gilbert's ears turned pink at the tips once again.

"And who, Gilbert?" Francis' smirk was absolutely massive, like the Cheshire Cat's on crack. "Roderich?"

Gilbert scowled, dropping the photo and shouting, "Yes, Roderich! Okay? I liked Roderich! I liked him a lot, for a long time! And I was jealous of him and Tonio, and then I was jealous of him and Liz even though I technically liked Liz too and it was confusing and are. You. Happy. Now!"

The albino huffed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest in a show of rarely displayed embarrassment. Antonio suddenly unwound his arm from around Francis, and embraced Gilbert tightly, pulling the other against his chest and kissing him delicately. Gilbert did not even flinch, holding onto the other and turning the chaste kiss into something deeper, and much more passionate.

They broke apart a moment later, both dizzy and Antonio with slightly bruised lips. Francis chuckled, applauding softly, and Gilbert bowed.

"You're fucking awesome at that, Toni. Not as awesome as me, of course, but still pretty damn awesome."

Francis leaned back in his chair as Antonio smiled demurely.

"You've come far, Gilbert. Why, it feels like just yesterday…"

He trailed off, smiling, his eyes falling shut. Francis could sense the suspense coming off of the others, and had to hold in a chuckle when Gilbert demanded, "When? Come on, Franny, don't leave us hangin!"

"Do you boys remember the day, back in the seventh grade, when you two were wrestling on the lunch line…" Francis noticed Antonio's blush, and Gilbert's confusion, before continuing,

"And Antonio's little friend got a bit… excited?"

By now Antonio's cheeks were burning crimson, and Gilbert suddenly looked like he had a bad rash. Neither of them made a noise of protest, so Francis kept going.

"Antonio ran off to the boy's room in shame, and Gilbert, you were so embarrassed and distraught you could hardly do a thing but say 'He had a boner, Francis, a freakin' boner!'"

Here Francis chuckled, and even Antonio gave a small smile.

"But then I went after him, and we, well…"

The blond and brunet shared a look, and Gilbert furrowed his eyebrows.

"I never heard this. What did you guys do?"

It was Antonio who answered with a sly smile, "Well, let's just say, Francis was my first."

Gilbert paused for a moment, mind almost visibly reeling, to take in his information, before he started to undo the buttons of his white shirt.

"Show me."

Suddenly the trio felt something in the room change; maybe those words had finally activated the buzz of the alcohol, or maybe it was just something they'd been thinking all along, waiting for the one of them daring enough to say it.

Regardless, Antonio and Francis did not argue, did not even flinch, and if they thought about the boys they were chasing they did not mention them. Instead they rose, undid their ties and removed their shirts, neither speaking a word.

Stepping across the room to face Gilbert, Francis ran his long fingertips over the planes of the albino's chest slowly. His muscles were tight, well toned from years of intense athleticism (it was one of the only things Gilbert was very good at, and one of the few reasons he made it to graduate with his class), and Francis took his time taking them in.

Gilbert's mouth opened, his eyebrows furrowed, obviously ready to complain, but he suddenly shut it again, brushing his rough fingers into the French boy's hair, pushing the ribbon holding it up into a ponytail away. The red strip fell to the floor, and Francis' hair tumbled around his face. He smiled softly.

"You like my hair, _mon cher_?"

Gilbert shrugged absently, fingers twisting in the blond curls. "Nah. But, it makes you look like a girl, which is a big turn on," he murmured, a slur faintly audible marring his gruff voice. He made a soft noise of surprise when a new set of hands found the sensitive spot in the small of his back, before turning and seeing Antonio's smile, which flittered between devious and naïve.

Gilbert smiled back, his smile that was really more of a smirk, and oh, now he was kissing Antonio again. Francis pulled his hands away a moment, admiring the sight of his two closest friends locked in a passionate embrace. It sent a sensation of heat shooting through his veins, especially when Gilbert's forceful tongue bullied its way into Antonio's mouth, coaxing a moan from the brunet.

Licking his lips and brushing absently at his warm cheek with a cool finger, Francis stepped in again, pressing his chest flush against Gilbert's back, reaching around the other's thin, wiry chest, and rolling one of his dusty pink nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He chuckled softly against the albino's neck when Gilbert pulled away from Antonio's mouth long enough to gasp.

Antonio was still smiling against Gilbert's lips, sucking softly on the probing tongue and holding onto the other more tightly when he felt him go weak in the knees. He opened his emerald eyes enough to see bright cerulean ones and hazy crimson ones staring back, and, never one to disappoint, gave a deep moan from the back of his throat.

Gilbert broke the kiss. He was panting noticeably, but it was still soft. Gilbert never broke a kiss unless he was starved for oxygen, until his lungs were bursting, drowning in lust.

"Gilbert?" Antonio murmured questioningly, the tan of his hand a stark juxtaposition against the pallor of the other's neck. "Are you okay?"

"M'fine," he muttered, his crimson gaze falling to the floor, hands still touching the others. "I just… it's too fucking hot today to fuck, that's all."

That was true enough; there was a thickness in the room that not even the late evening breeze couldn't kill, but,

"That's never stopped you before, Gilbert," Francis frowned, pulling away from the other and tilting his head up by the chin so that their eyes would meet. "We know you; you don't need to hide from us…"

Gilbert only offered a sheepish shrug, "M'not hiding anything. I'm just not in to mood to have a raunchy threesome tonight. Maybe some other day."

Francis and Antonio shared a look, the latter biting his lip.

"Gil… there won't be any other days…" he whispered, and there was choking silence.

"There will be!" Gilbert insisted, throwing his hands up dramatically, as if hoping it would distract from the glimmer in his eyes. It hadn't, but neither of his friends wanted to mention it. He sighed finally, harshly, and lowered his hands so quickly they smacked his thighs with a loud, resonating sound.

"Let's just go to sleep…" he suggested, finally.

"It's only nine o'clock, though."

"Then we can watch a movie! Anything is better than sitting here, pretending we're not all distracting ourselves from the idea that we've only got one more week together by thinking about all the awesome shit we've done together!"

Antonio choked out a sob. Francis bit at his lip. Gilbert looked at the both of them with an expression that used anger to mask hurt.

"We've… always been together."

"And we always will be," Gilbert snapped, pulling Antonio roughly into his warm, bare chest, brushing his fingers in the other's hair roughly. Antonio sighed, nuzzling the other's chest with his nose and inhaling deeply.

"So," Francis murmured, placing an open palm on each of their backs, "how about that movie, then?"

_To Be Continued_

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A/N: I'd love to hear any comments you guys have, and thank you so much for reading!

crimson-obsidian-rose


	2. Part I Chapter II

Thank you to all the amazing people who reviewed, faved, and watched this story (and only after chapter one; wow, you've all spoiled me)! Because of you all being so good to me, here is chapter two, lightening fast! :D

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

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Scarred Heart in Hand, Part I Chapter II**

Sunlight was tickling the backs of Antonio's eyelids when he awoke. It took him a few moments to reorient himself, and when his awareness returned he found himself nestled in between the warm bodies of Francis and Gilbert, their unique scents mingling in his nose and their arms a gentle pressure around each side of his waist.

The next thing he came to notice was that his eyes were incredibly puffy, almost painfully so. He wondered if maybe he had spent more time crying the previous night than he could remember (the night did seem hazy), until he spotted the DVD cases strewn about the floor of Francis' family room.

'That's right,' he remembered, 'we watched _Bambi_ last night…'

He snuck a quick look at Gilbert, who'd been the one pretending he wasn't crying at all when he was obviously crying the hardest; sure enough, his eyes were red rimmed and puffy. Pressing a delicate kiss to his forehead, it finally occurred to him that perhaps it made Gilbert long for his own mother, who died when they were still in preschool. That earned the albino a soft brush through his bangs; Gilbert made a soft noise of content as he shifted on the loveseat.

Antonio turned to Francis, who'd been breathing heavily in his ear, the noise just shy of a snore but much less grating to listen to. He too got a gentle forehead kiss, before Antonio wiggled out from between his friends.

His next thought was that he should go make breakfast, and the one that followed was that he was not wearing any pants. He wasn't too concerned about the latter, both because it was hot in the room, and because he still had his boxers on, so there was little chance the trio had done anything intimate that he could not remember.

Relived, he quietly padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, wiggling his toes happily at the coolness of the tile underfoot. He opened the fridge, checking to make sure the essentials were there: tomatoes, check. Eggs, he decided, might also be useful; they were there, lined up in their carton. Antonio smiled and took these things out of the fridge, resting them on the counter. He then went into the pantry, returning with an onion and a few potatoes, his eye catching the vial of olive oil on the counter.

From the kitchen drawer, he extracted the potato peeler, musing on the fact that it was in the same place he'd left it last time, and wondering if anyone used this kitchen but him and Francis. It was doubtful, he realized as he started to peel the skins off over a garbage pail.

There was a knock at the door. It was violent, especially for so early in the morning, and so Antonio put the peeler and potato down and scampered to the front of the house.

"Who is it?" He sang into the crack, looking through the peephole.

"Open up, bastard, lemme in!"

It was Lovino, image distorted in the small looking glass, but voice as recognizable as always. Antonio, in his excitement, swung the door open and pulled the other into a tight embrace.

"Lovi!" he squealed, clutching the other. It had been a long time since he'd last seen his boyfriend; more than 36 hours, a record. "Why're you here?"

Lovino snorted, shoving the other away. "Why the fuck are you naked?" he shouted, giving the other a quick once over (his cheeks started to go red; Antonio could not help but think of a tomato).

Antonio looked down at himself; he hadn't felt a draft…

"I'm not naked," he confirmed, "I'm wearing boxers."

Lovino, suddenly realizing they were still standing on Francis' porch, pushed the other into the house and followed him, shutting the door behind them.

"Why aren't you wearing anything but boxers?" he demanded, poking the other in the chest. "Did those perverts do anything seedy to you?"

Antonio shook his head, and pressed Lovino's palm flat against his chest.

"Nope. And don't be so mad, Lovi, I know you're enjoying the view."

Lovino spluttered, unable to form coherent words and turning pink all down his neck, past the collar of his shirt. He lashed out instead, punching the other in the chest and huffing.

"I came here to make sure you guys don't sleep in and miss Elizaveta's party. I mean, not that I care if she kills the other two idiots, but I want…"

Here Lovino coughed, before looking around. "Where are the other idiots, anyways?"

"Asleep. It's still really early."

"It's 11:15! And Liz wants everyone there by 1!"

Antonio shrugged, "Plenty of time. Come help me make breakfast?"

"You know I hate cooking with you, Antonio…" Lovino frowned, but he followed Antonio into the kitchen none the less, grabbing a bar stool and sitting atop it, watching as Antonio resumed his potato peeling. Lovino grimaced.

"I hate potatoes."

"Aw, but Lovi, they can be delicious. You just have to give them a fair chance."

"No thanks.

"Please?"

"No!"

Antonio sighed. The kitchen fell silent, except for the sound of peeler as it sliced the skins away from the potatoes.

"…C-Congrats on graduating…" Lovino finally murmured, and when Antonio looked up, he saw the other was looking at the floor, twiddling his fingers in his lap. Antonio smiled, and freed his hands of the food before engulfing the other into a hug. Lovino seemed to want to protest, but when his face was pressed into Antonio's warm chest he remained silent.

"Thank you, Lovi. I love you," he murmured, and then tucking his fingers under the other's chin, he tilted Lovino's head upwards (the other's hazel eyes immediately fell shut) and leaned in for a kiss-

"Wait! Wait, you bastard! I'm not going to fucking kiss you after you did it with those perverts!"

Antonio pouted, "But we didn't have sex!"

"Uh huh, sure."

"Well, we almost did," he consented, "but we didn't get any farther than making out, I swear!"

Lovino's eyes twitched. "You made out with those perverts-"

"Only Gilbert!"

"-You made out with Gilbert and planned to go further, even though we're dating? Antonio, you fucking idiot!"

"Shh, shh, shhh," Antonio coaxed, running a hand over the other's thin shirt. "Don't get mad. It just happened… we were drunk and melancholy and I just… needed someone…"

Lovino looked torn between sympathy and rage.

"Antonio… d-don't make excuses! If you needed someone, you could have called me…"

"I didn't want to trouble you," Antonio cooed, "and Gilbert and Francis needed someone too."

Then Lovino looked up, hazel eyes meet emerald ones, and he murmured, "They can find someone else. You're… mine."

They leaned in together, this time, and the kiss was every bit as bold and passionate as Antonio's has been with Gilbert the night before. But, while the last one was needy and taking, this one was insecure and asking. Antonio answered by nipping at his boyfriend's full lips, by running a finger over the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Lovino was making soft, shy noises in response, wanton and embarrassed at the same time. When Antonio pulled away, he smiled, and in the moment when Lovino's mind was still lost in the intimacy he smiled back.

It was the most beautiful thing Antonio had ever seen. Beautiful, and yet fleeting, gone within the next second.

Lovino coughed, looking back to the things on the counter and asking, "So, is there anything that doesn't involve fucking potatoes you need my help with?"

"I thought you said you hated cooking with me," Antonio replied, a smile still playing on his lips. Lovino grumbled, hopping off the barstool.

"I changed my mind. You're going too slow and it's annoying to watch."

"Well, in that case, you could chop an onion? Or if the smell bothers you, you could start beating the eggs. To feed four people, we'll probably need five…"

"Four people? I'm not eating anything with potatoes in it, dammit!"

"Come on, Lovi, give it a chance?"

"No!"

"What if I fed it to you? Would you eat it then?" Antonio smiled teasingly, placing the last of the peeled potatoes down and pulling out a long chef's knife, cutting them into thin slices. Lovino blushed predictably as he tossed another egg shell into the trash bin.

"No. Don't even think about it, idiot!"

"Aw, but Lovino…" he whined, and the other scowled, beating the eggs violently.

Antonio looked to the bowl of tomatoes he'd taken from the fridge, and picked up one of the smaller ones, a grape tomato. Smiling, he held it up to the other's thin lips, singing,

"Open wide!"

"No, thank you," the other muttered, and Antonio frowned, taking a step closer and wrapping his other arm around Lovino's waist.

"Open up, Lovi, let me feed you," he whispered softly against the other's ear. "Please?"

Wordlessly, the other opened his mouth, cheeks still stained pink, and Antonio slipped the baby tomato in, intentionally allowing his fingers to brush the inside of the other's lips. Lovino shivered.

Antonio, now satisfied, when back to the cutting board and diced up an onion, before taking out a large pan and browning up the vegetables in it.

"What exactly are you making?" Lovino asked, as the other placed the softened, browned vegetables back into the bowl with the eggs. As much as he was loathed to admit it, the smell filling the kitchen was making his stomach growl. Perhaps he would take Antonio up on his offer…

"A Spanish omelet! My Abuelita made them for me lots when I was a kid, and Gilbert really likes them because of the potatoes. It's like our default food, when I'm cooking."

Antonio mixed in a few species and herbs (Lovino was sure he recognized thyme, red pepper flakes, salt and black pepper, though he'd no clue what else was going in), and smiled; suddenly Lovino felt very much like an outsider, more than he'd been even hearing about the trio being intimate. It was, he realized, a different sort of intimacy.

Antonio was unaware of this, though, as he poured the mixture back into the pan.

"Will you go wake the others for me, Lovino?"

"Absolutely not."

"Aw, come on, Lovi, please?"

"Never in a million years. Especially not if they're as naked as you are."

Antonio pouted, "Fine, then you can make sure the eggs don't burn, and I'll go get them-"

He cut himself off when Lovino hugged him tightly, mumbling against his neck. He could not understand what was being said, but the feel of the other's lips on his skin made him pause.

"W-What?"

"Stay," Lovino repeated. "You're about to go away and I won't be able to see you for a whole year and the least you could do is just stay with me alone for a few more moments…"

"A year?" Antonio repeated, looking down at the other. "Do you mean…?"

"I'm going to apply to your school… N-Not because you're going there, or anything!" Lovino insisted, "Just… because they have a good fine arts program, you know?"

Antonio suddenly could not help but beam; he kissed the other once on each cheek, and hugged him tightly to his bare chest.

"Oh, Lovi!"

"Y-Yeah, yeah…" The other tried not to smile. "Your eggs are done, idiot."

Antonio turned quickly, shutting off the stove and plating his large omelet, placing it on the counter and kissing Lovino softly on the lips.

"Can we go wake the others, please, oh wonderful amazing boyfriend? In exchange, I'll invite you to sleep in my bed tonight," he asked hopefully, running his palms over the other's upper arms. Lovino flushed.

"You spend too much time with those perverts," he muttered. "B-But… alright."

Smiling, Antonio took his boyfriend's hand and started to lead him out of the kitchen. Lovino stuttered and pulled his hand away.

"Oh no. I'm not going up there with you. You can go wake them up, and I'll stay here."

"But…"

"Don't worry," Lovino added, "I won't poison the omelet. Unless they come down without pants on."

Antonio decided to laugh, finally, and ruffled the other's bangs with a sigh.

"Alright then, Lovino. We'll be right down."

* * *

Antonio padded back up to the family room, quietly entering the lavish room and smiling, leaning against the door frame. Francis and Gilbert had shifted, curling up together in the space he'd left empty. Gilbert had his nose buried in Francis' unkempt blond curls, blowing them away with every exhale. Francis' hands had shifted, one of them grasping onto the other's waist tightly, the other rested on Gilbert's thigh.

To Antonio, the sight was beautiful. He wished that he had a camera with him, to immortalize the moment, and then realized his cell phone was in his pants pocket, discarded in the corner of the room with the other two males' pants. He tiptoed over, taking the device out, and moved to a perfect vantage point to take the shot.

Antonio smiled at the photo, saving it and putting his phone away. Deciding to appease Lovino as well, he picked up his pants and pulled them up over his red boxer shorts.

"Francis," he murmured finally, nudging the other gently. "Gilbert. Come on, guys, wakey wakey!"

Francis' eyes opened blearily. "Antonio?" he murmured confusedly. "What time is it?"

Antonio had to check on this phone; "11:42." The blond yawned, stretching and blinking a few times before turning to Gilbert. He sniggered softly and murmured in the other's ear,

"Oh, _oh_, Gilbert! Nngh, oh, _harder_ -!"

Antonio giggled, and Gilbert's cheeks were becoming stained with pink.

"M-Matthew…" he murmured roughly in his sleep, before his crimson eyes opened a sliver. "M-Matt…?"

Francis and Antonio both burst out laughing, and when Gilbert came to his senses he scowled.

"Fuck you too," he slurred, still drunk on sleepiness, "wha' a fuckin' nice way to wake someone up…"

Francis pet the other's silver hair gently, before asking, "You were having a wet dream about my Matthew? Tsk, big brother does not approve."

"S-Shut up, Franny!" He glared, shifting away from the other and then standing. "I gotta go piss."

"After you do, breakfast is waiting for you downstairs!" Antonio called, and Gilbert stopped in the doorway of the room.

"Potato omelet!" he squealed (he would deny it later, of course), mood suddenly brightening.

"Yup! Oh, and Lovi's downstairs, so you've gotta put these on," he added, tossing the albino his black slacks. Gilbert pouted, the pants catching around his shoulder, and mumbled inaudibly as he stalked off.

"Lovino is downstairs?" Francis repeated questioningly, and Antonio nodded. The former picked up his own pants, then, and smiled, "Well, it's best not to keep a guest waiting. Shall we head down?"

Antonio nodded again, and Francis smiled at him, instructing him to head on down, that he would follow after he'd brushed his teeth.

* * *

When Antonio returned downstairs, he happened upon Lovino sitting at the table, his elbow on the tabletop, chin in his palm. He looked melancholy, rolling a cherry tomato around the table with a finger from his other hand, but the faintest sliver of a smile grew on his face.

He looked up suddenly when the floor under Antonio's foot creaked, smile gone, and he scowled.

"You're back. Where are they?"

"Getting ready upstairs. Don't worry, they both have their pants on."

Lovino nodded, "That's good. I don't wanna see any more man junk."

"Well then," Antonio chuckled, taking a seat beside the other and picking up a fork, "How're you going to handle it at Liz's pool party?"

Lovino frowned, "M'not… sure I wanna go…"

Antonio's jaw fell slack, and he grabbed the other by the shoulders. "Lovi! You have to go! Why wouldn't you go?"

The others shrugged, "I dunno. This party is for the people who've graduated, and stuff…"

"Well, Feliciano is going too, isn't he?" Antonio frowned, and Lovino gave him a dirty look.

"And you think just because my brother is going with his fucking potato-headed boyfriend, I should be there too? No thanks, I'm not up for watching that idiot try and seduce the bastard who isn't worth his time."

"Well, what if you don't go for Feli? What if you go for me?"

Just as Lovino opened his mouth to answer, footsteps were heard approaching; it was Gilbert, barreling down the stairs with all the grace of a hippo. His mouth closed once again as the albino came in.

"Mm, smells awesome, Toni! Oh, and hey grumpy Italian dude! How're ya today?"

"Grumpy," Lovino snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. Gilbert grinned.

"Excellent!"

He picked up a fork, cutting into the omelet and moaning at the first bite; Antonio flushed in delight. When Francis stepped in a moment later, he too picked up a fork, and he and Antonio dug in to the large breakfast dish, Antonio bringing his fork up to Lovino's lips every few moments to feed him. Lovino refused at first, but eventually he gave in.

Other than that, there was no conversation. Perhaps their mouths were just busy, or perhaps none of them could find anything to say, but they ate until the plate of food was emptied without saying a word.

It wasn't until Francis looked up at the clock that he broke the silence, "Oh, Elizaveta's party starts in half an hour. I suppose it's time we all got dressed, no?"

They agreed. Lovino offered to meet them there ("You'd better come, Lovi, or I'll be upset!" "Shut up, idiot!"), and the trio went back up to Francis' room to get ready.

Francis reached into his closet, and from them he pulled out several hangers of his friends' clothing, left behind for various reasons over the past year.

"Oh man, is that my favorite shirt?" Gilbert cheered, beaming and snatching a hanger with from Francis' hand before the other could pass it to him. The shirt was white, except for the text across it in simple font, 'Bitches don't know 'bout my chicks,' under which there was a cartoon chick with a stereotypical pimp necklace and sunglasses. Gilbert hugged it to his chest, grabbing the shirt and his green swim shorts, and retreating to a corner to change; Antonio and Francis laughed.

Antonio grabbed a red tank top and his blue trunks, and Francis his red trunks and a white tank top, the two of them changing as well. There was no discomfort in the room, despite the fact that the trio was essentially stripping in plain sight of one another; they had long since passed that stage in their relationship.

Each of the boys picked up their sunglasses, threw a towel over their shoulder, and, sliding flip flops onto their feet, they made for Elizaveta's house a few blocks away.

_To Be Continued_

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A/N: Thanks again to everyone who commented, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as you did the last one!

crimson-obsidian-rose


	3. Part I Chapter III

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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Scarred Heart in Hand, chapter III**

"You guys finally made it!" their hostess greeted as they came up the block, leading them through the gate to her backyard, where the party was just beginning, all the guests mingling.

Standing near the refreshments table were Berwald and Tino, the former apparently trying to feed the latter a tortilla chip, who accepted it with a shy, embarrassed flush. Not too far away Gupta was pouring out three drinks, trying to ignore Sadiq and Heracles fighting from either side of his head, and then there was Lovino, standing near the table glaring daggers at Ludwig.

Ludwig was being drug over to the pool by Feliciano, while the brunet was simultaneously attempting to take off both of their shirts (Ludwig seemed embarrassed at being stripped, which Gilbert found strange; after all, his brother was ripped). Already in the pool was Alfred Jones, shirtless and without his glasses, chatting with his brother, Matthew, who was sitting along the pool's edge with his feet in the water, and Arthur, who was yelling at him not to splash so much. Chelles was also there, laying atop the water and soaking up sunlight. Nearby, Kiku was fiddling with his camera, snapping shots of everyone and everything he could.

Sitting under the shade of the porch awning were Vash, Margot, and Heidi, the former helping the younger braid up her hair so she could go into the water later on. Ivan was also there, sipping on a drink and looking as evil as ever, Gilbert mused, and sitting at the edge of the shade, eyes closed and glasses in his lap, was Roderich.

The trio separated, Antonio skipping over to harass his little boyfriend, and Francis sauntering over to the pool area to join the bubble of blonds seated by the water's edge.

That left Gilbert alone. He snorted to himself, walking over to the food table and shoving a cheese cracker into his mouth. He stood there for a moment, surveying the area and looking totally awesome and aloof, until Elizaveta came over to him.

"Why are you standing here all by yourself, Gilbert?"

"I'm being cool and aloof. Isn't it sexy? Aren't you attracted?" He grinned, and Elizaveta giggled.

"Oh yes," she agreed jokingly, running a hand over his flexed bicep (was he flexing? Oh, he hadn't noticed) and smiling. "You're so hot today, Gilbert."

"Damn straight I am."

"Perhaps you should come under the shade for a bit?" she suggested, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "After all, you're so pale it won't take any time for the Sun to cook you like a Thanksgiving turkey."

Gilbert found he could not refuse. He stalked over to the shaded area, huffing angrily under his breath.

Especially after he discovered that the only unoccupied seat under the shade was beside a certain Austrian he may or may not have hated (answer: he did).

"Roderich," he snapped, and the brunet opened his eyes, unguarded amethyst orbs looking at him for only a moment, before his eyebrows furrowed in distain.

"Gilbert," the other retorted, pulling his glasses up over his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited, idiot. You're not the only one Liz likes."

"I meant here in the quiet area, instead of out there with your loud, obnoxious friends."

"Elizaveta was worried that I would burn in the Sun, so she asked me to come sit out the worst of the heat. Jealous?"

"Of?"

"Liz's obvious concern for me. Don't try to hide it, priss, I know you're not happy."

"Well, I can't say I approve of her taste in friends," Roderich agreed, "but I'm not horrible enough to tell her who she can or cannot spend time with."

There was the barest hint of a smirk on his face, and Gilbert growled, "What're you implying?"

"Nothing, of course. Why, what do you think I'm implying?"

"Well, I don't speak priss, but it sounds like you're fucking calling me a bad friend for saving Toni from your worthless ass."

"Wow, Gilbert, I was not expecting you to be able to reason so well. Perhaps you did deserve to graduate, then."

"Why you little fucke-"

"Gilbert!" Elizaveta interrupted, slamming a bottle of sunscreen down on the table before them. Her green eyes were furrowed in annoyance as she glared. "I won't have any of my guests talking to each other that way! And the same goes for you, Roderich."

Both boys sent each other glares, but a well aimed, sharp stare from Elizaveta forced them to cease.

"Sorry," the murmured in unison, and Elizaveta smiled. She was, Gilbert finally noticed, dressed very appropriately in a bikini top and a small fabric wrap around her waist, showing skin everywhere. He smirked.

"Can you help me get this stuff on?" he asked, gesturing to the sunscreen. "You know how useless I am at getting stuff like this on."

Roderich snorted; Elizaveta threw him a look before looking back at Gilbert with a smile.

"Well, alright. But if you get any ideas, Gilbert, you'll be reacquainted with a dear, old friend."

The albino shivered, thinking back to the beginning of high school, when Elizaveta was taking Home Ec. as her elective and hit him in the face with a frying pan when he'd tried to grope her. He was grateful that it wasn't hot, but that wasn't enough to keep it from hurting either, and it was a pain he'd never forget.

Still, when Elizaveta squatted down in front of him, giving him a good view of her impressive cleavage, and when she started to smear the cool lotion all over his chest, her fingers brushing over his pecs and down his abdomen, he shivered. Roderich glared, and even Elizaveta gave him a look, but Gilbert flushed and looked away shyly.

"Gilbert…?"

"W-What?" he murmured, furrowing his eyebrows and not meeting the gazes. He missed Elizaveta's smile, and she resumed.

"Nothing," she said. "I've missed you lately. I haven't seen much of you in a long while, Gil. How've you been?"

At the softness of her tone, the albino smiled. "I've been awesome, of course!"

Roderich chortled; he was ignored.

"That's good. Any new romantic endeavors?"

Gilbert sighed, and Elizaveta frowned.

"I guess that's a no. Poor Bertie…"

"Don't call me that!"

Elizaveta giggled, and even Roderich cracked a smile.

"Hey, Roderich… there's something I've been meaning to ask ya," Gilbert said suddenly, once their giggles died down.

"Hm?"

"Did you… Did you actually like Antonio? Back when you asked him out and stuff…?"

Roderich's brows furrowed in the way the other two knew meant he was trying to hide how ruffled he was.

"Of course I did," he answered simply, "or else I would not have dated him. Contrary to the many things you believe about me, Gilbert, I am capable of care, and I do not like to lead people on."

"Prove it," Gilbert said decisively, smiling at Liz when she stood up and sat down in a seat that'd just emptied (Heidi had left for the pool). When he turned back to Roderich, he was all seriousness once again. "Prove to me that you cared about him."

Roderich sighed harshly, looking to the floor. "You like to pick at old wounds, don't you, Gilbert? Very well…

"When I was younger, as you'll remember, I did not have many friends. And at first I wasn't bothered much; I had a few creative hobbies that occupied my time, and kept me busy enough not to miss the company of others too badly. But then, as we got older, I could not help but notice how… happy you and your friends were. You were not very good at much of anything, but because you possessed such a strong friendship, it did not matter to you… I envied that.

"Antonio was the first person to show me true kindness of the sake of being kind. It was around Christmas time, and our class was holding a secret gift-giving exchange. Antonio had pulled my name, and while I had been expecting to receive a cheap toy or some candy, I opened my box and found inside a set of ornaments, all made to look like classical instruments. That was when I first started to think of him in that way, and…"

Roderich paused, something shimmering in his eyes as he reminisced, before he blinked and was all seriousness again,

"I still have the full set, still as good as new."

Elizaveta reacted first, smiling and patting the back of her boyfriend's hand tenderly; he turned to her with a smile and allowed himself to be kissed by her quickly.

Gilbert reacted next, "Fuck it. I try so hard to hate you, but then you go and say something like that…" He broke off in a sigh and looked up at the couple with hardened crimson eyes.

"You know," Elizaveta started to break the silence, "it surprises me that we have never done it together. You both obviously care about each other as much as I care for either of you."

Perhaps it was the heavy mood in their small circle, starkly juxtaposed by the party going on around them to make it even more somber, or maybe the graduation ceremony and all it meant was still far too fresh on their minds, but neither Gilbert and Roderich protested as they would have.

"No," Gilbert said finally. "As much as you may be right, Liz, I don't think it would ever have been possible for me to have sex with that piano playing priss."

It was not an insult, or a jibe, or anything more than just a noting of the facts. Roderich nodded, adding,

"Nor could I ever have with the loudmouthed, obnoxious albino."

Gilbert stood, stretching out his back and offering the couple his wide, lazy grin.

"You're going to Julliard, priss? Good luck there. Go kick all their asses, make all the years I vandalized your pianos and shit worth it."

Without waiting for anything more than Roderich's smug smirk to return, the albino walked off, dropping his shirt off beside Matthew and diving into the nice, cool water.

Roderich sighed, shaking his head; the smile, Elizaveta noticed, was still there.

"Remind me again why we still bother with him?"

Elizaveta giggled, nestling against her boyfriend's arm, her gaze still focused on the loud albino, who was currently trying to coax shy Matthew Williams into the pool with him.

"I don't know, Roderich, you tell me."

The Austrian boy frowned, looking at his girlfriend from over his glasses.

"Hey, Roderich?"

"Hm?"

"_Have_ you and Gilbert ever had sex?" Elizaveta asked innocently. Roderich make a wheezing sound that was something akin to what she imagined an animal would make if it was run over by a car.

"Do you have to be so vulgar? It's unbecoming…"

"Your face is red!"

"It is not!"

"Come on, Roderich, tell me," she cooed. "Who was on top?"

Roderich spluttered, and when he didn't say anything, Elizaveta's grin practically became feral.

He cleared his throat, suddenly, "I was, of course."

It was her turn to be shocked, but the glimmer in her eyes only intensified.

"You?"

"Don't doubt me, Elizaveta."

She giggled, "I think I'm going to need a demonstration, love. Care to spend the night, one last time?"

She was trailing her fingers up his chest, and flicked his nose to punctuate her offer. Roderich flushed, color staining his high cheek bones, but he did not protest.

Elizaveta leaned in, brushing her nose against her boyfriend's tenderly, leaning closer still and pressing her li-

There was a loud splash coming from the pool, paired with a high pitched yelp and an even louder laugh.

"Gilbert!" Three voices were heard shouting simultaneously; Elizaveta fumed. She rose angrily from her seat, stomping over to the pool and reaching into the water for the laughing albino, tugging him out by his short silver hair. Past him she could see Matthew, secure in his brother's arms, coughing as Alfred thumped him lightly on the back, his clothes thoroughly soaked.

"Ow ow owow Liz let go!"

"No, you idiot," she snapped. "This is a new low for you; you could have killed Matt!"

Gilbert scowled, "I didn't mean to hurt him! I just wanted him to have some fun, instead of sitting around and watching everyone else…"

"And you thought pushing him into the pool was a good idea?" Arthur argued, and Gilbert frowned.

"I didn't mean to hurt him…"

Matthew, whose coughs had all but faded, was next to speak, "It's okay, everyone. I'm fine. But I think my glasses fell off in the pool, and I can't really see…"

Elizaveta released Gilbert's hair, tossing him back into the pool.

"Find his glasses," she instructed, "and then get out of my pool."

Gilbert nodded hastily, running his fingers gently through his aching scalp before plunging back into the pool. The was under for a few moments, only the rippling water a giveaway of where he was, before his head broke out from under.

"Here," he gasped, handing Matthew his sopping wet glasses. "M'sorry."

The young blond opened his mouth to answer, but without waiting for even a syllable Gilbert hoisted himself out of the pool and snatched his towel, stalking away to sit in the corner miserably.

Matthew's mouth fell shut, and he frowned, sighing and shaking his head. Elizaveta gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about him, hun. He's punishing himself because he feels bad, but he'll be out of it soon, okay?" She smiled at him warmly, and, noticing how soaked he was, she added, "Do you need a change of clothes?"

The blond shook his head, but Alfred was quick to steal the attention away, "He'd better be punishing himself, dammit, he drowned my baby brother!"

"Alfred-"

"Are you sure you're alright, Mattie? I could go rough him up a bit for ya, make him feel bad."

"That will not be necessary," Francis cut in swiftly, taking Matthew's glasses from him and wiping them on his dry shirt, something Matthew had been trying to do for a while to no avail with his wet clothes. "Gilbert, despite all of his fronts, is plenty capable of feeling guilt."

Matthew, murmuring thanks as he accepted his glasses back, looked over at Gilbert with a frown; the other looked so pitiable, knees curled up to his chest as he braided together a few blades of grass.

"I think I'm going to go talk to him…"

"No, Mattie, that's what he wants you to do! To go forgive him so he can go back to hurting you! Don't do it!" Alfred cut in, grabbing his twin by the arm. Matthew shrugged him off coldly.

"I'm going to talk to him," he insisted, violent eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't try to stop me, Alfred."

Leaving behind a flabbergasted Alfred, and a very impressed Francis, Arthur, and Elizaveta, Matthew strode across the lawn and went over to the lonely albino.

"Gilbert," he murmured, "d-don't feel bad about what happened…"

Gilbert looked up, pouting at the other and dropping his braided grass.

"I almost drowned you, though. Which, you know, is totally not awesome."

"It's alright, I'm still here, right? It's not like you shoved me into a deep freezing ocean all alone in the dead of night and rowed away while cackling."

Gilbert blinked, and when he caught sight of Matthew's shy smile he grinned.

"That's pretty fucked up. Which is a lot, coming from me."

They shared a short laugh, and Matthew reached his hand out for the other.

"Come on. I know we can't go to the pool, and trust me, I don't think I want to, but we could always go get cookies?"

Gilbert grinned, "I like the way you think! So, is there any chance she's got maple stuff there?"

Matthew frowned, shaking his head somberly. "I checked."

"Pfft, Matt, you're so predictable. It's cute."

"C-Cute?"

"Yep," Gil nodded, leading him to the food, "like a little chick or something. Especially when you're wet and your hair is starting to frizz."

Matt flushed, patting down his hair as Gilbert started to scarf down a few chocolate chip cookies.

"Roderich…" he muttered angrily, before swallowing the mouthful of chewed food.

"What?"

"He made these… curse him and his awesome baking skills!" Gilbert swore, before shoving three more cookies into his mouth. Matthew giggled, before taking one for himself.

"Wow, this is good."

"I know. Dammit."

* * *

Not too far away, Alfred was wading in the water, his arms resting on the edge of the pool. He was staring none too kindly at his brother and the albino upperclassmen, his gaze as fierce as a hawk's.

Until Francis sat down at the edge of the pool, slipped his feet into the water, and effectively blocked the duo from Alfred's sight. Alfred scowled.

"Move, Francis."

"No. It is time you let Matthew make his own friends and do things without you watching over him. A day might come when you two will not be together, and you will want to be confident that he can handle himself."

"That'll never happen," Alfred countered. "Mattie and I are gonna be together forever, from womb to tomb."

Francis smiled ruefully, and he and Arthur shared the briefest of looks.

"You know, Gilbert, Antonio, and I used to say the same thing. But next year we are all going to different universities."

"Nothing lasts forever," Arthur murmured in agreement.

Alfred looked from one of them to the other, and asked with a sudden pout.

"So, are you guys dating, or what?"

"Yes." "No." They spoke in unison. Francis frowned and leaned into Arthur, resting his body against the other's arm.

"Yes, we are dating, Arthur. We do not have to hide it anymore."

"Bullocks," he snapped, "we aren't and never were dating."

"Then what about all the times you guys had sex in the Student Council Room?"

Arthur flushed a bright red color, and Francis was, for once, very grateful for Alfred's blunt nature.

"That was just…" Arthur sighed gruffly, a hand running through his messy, choppy blond hair. "I'm only eighteen years old, for God's sake, I'm a horny teenager. Do I need a reason to have sex?"

Alfred frowned, but not nearly as much as Francis, who replied curtly, "No, you do not. But for all those stolen kisses and late night phone calls, I would like to think there was a reason."

Arthur scowled, his face turning even redder. "Well…"

There was silence when he trailed off, that became more awkward as it progressed until Alfred dissolved it with a small laugh.

"You guys… I guess as unexpected as it was, it works."

Francis smiled, ruffling the other's wet hair like one would to an obedient dog; Alfred scowled, but his eyes were still smiling.

"What about you?" Francis asked. "How is your love life, Alfred?"

"Pah, I'm a lone ranger. All heroes fly solo!"

Francis raised an eyebrow. "I take it you're a virgin, then? Because if that is the case, _mon cher_, I know of a very handsome young man who could help you out."

Alfred chuckled, "Nah, haven't been a virgin for a while."

"Really?" Francis asked incredulously.

"Yup. Guilty party is right next to ya."

Francis' eyes widened, especially as Arthur made a choking sound.

"Is this true, Arthur? You and Alfred…?"

"It was a long time ago," he said simply, cheeks red.

Francis chuckled softly, and Alfred joined in as well. Soon, a smile broke out on Arthur's face, unable to keep being embarrassed with that mood surrounding him. Trust Francis to make even talking about sex easy.

"I can't believe you guys are going to college… where're ya going again, Francis?"

"The French Culinary Institute. I'm going to study pastry arts."

"Really? Sweet!"

The three chuckled at Alfred's pun, but the laughter was short lived.

"School is gonna suck without you guys," Alfred decided. "Who am I gonna harass now?"

"Well, you could always go for next year's Student Council President?"

"Nah, Kiku and I are friends. He loans me his videogames, so I wouldn't wanna get him angry," Alfred paused. "Well, at least not til after I finish the Ace Attorney series…"

Kiku, almost as if hearing his name, looked up. Alfred waved happily, and the small Asian boy waved back.

When Alfred plopped his hand back down against the pool's edge, he turned to the others with a grin.

"Well," he mused, "it'll be nice to be able to wreak havoc without bushy brows getting in my way."

"I feel sorry for Kiku and Toris, then," Arthur retorted, trying to keep from looking as melancholy as he felt. Francis, who was going through the same, simply sighed and placed his palm gently over Arthur's hand.

"I think what Alfred means to say is that he is going to miss us very, very much."

The younger blond snorted, "Oh, sure. If that makes you feel better, let's go with that."

Arthur shook his head, but the smile on his face was unmistakable.

"I'm so glad to be getting away from you, too, Alfred. God knows I've waited years for this day."

"Likewise, Artie. But enough about sitting around like old ladies, pruning in the water, let's go eat something and start having fun."

Alfred got out of the pool, shaking the water out of his hair and toweling off quickly, his eyes focused the entire time on the refreshments table.

"Are you sure you're not just suddenly hungry because Gilbert started feeding Matthew?"

Alfred grinned dangerously, "Oh, it has nothing to do with that."

And, as Alfred stalked off to go "get some lemonade," Francis found himself praying that none of Elizaveta's cookware gets destroyed.

_To Be Continued_

* * *

A/N: Updates will regretfully slow down a bit because it is that time of the year: finals season! My beta and I are both a little busy with schoolwork to get to editing this, but we're doing our best! Thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting; it means so much to me!

crimson-obsidian-rose


	4. Part I Chapter IV

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand, Part I Chapter IV**

The party, Elizaveta mused as she picked up a few stray plastic cups, was a success. None of her guests had seemed at all unhappy or uncomfortable, and aside from the pool mishap (which, coming from Gilbert, was not all that bad), things had gone smoothly. Sure, she had hoped that maybe the beautiful scenery and heat of the late afternoon would drive some passions wild, and maybe Roderich was right in assuming she had an ulterior motive when she chose to play "club music," but it wasn't too disheartening that the best she'd gotten out of her guests was a short-lived kiss from Antonio and Lovino.

Or at least, that is what she told herself. But she really was pleased that all her friends had left with smiling faces, thanking her and asking if she needed help cleaning up. Seeing everyone so relaxed, so calm and together, after the hectic prom and graduation ceremonies, was a nice change of pace.

"Elizaveta, where would you like for me to put this…" Roderich's voice called, distracting her from her thoughts. She looked up and found he was holding the bowl that had once been full of dip, but was now mostly empty except for a small amount of tomatoes and some broken chips.

"Don't worry about it, Roderich, I'll handle the cleaning. You just go sit inside and wait for me, okay? I'll be quick."

"Nonsense," he insisted, picking up another empty plate with his free hand. "It makes no sense for you to be left doing all the cleaning while I sat and waited for you."

Elizaveta smiled, striding over to her boyfriend and kissing him gently under the orange evening sky.

"You're so sweet, honey, but it's fine, really. It was my party, and it was well worth the small amount of cleaning left behind."

Roderich gave her a small smile, his cheeks bright pink.

"I insist."

Unable to argue against his charms, Elizaveta relented, grabbing a plastic bag and stuffing the trash into it.

"It's sort of sad," she mused aloud, "that this is the last time we're all going to be together like this. Did you see how reluctant everyone was to leave?"

Roderich shrugged, returning from the inside of her house and picking up the tablecloth.

"Change is a normal part of life. It is sad, yes, but it's also natural. We were never going to be together forever. We're all going to move on and make new friends, just like our predecessors did. Life doesn't end after high school."

Elizaveta sighed, picking up a broom and sweeping up her back porch, "But what about Tino and Berwald, or Lovino and Antonio… are they not meant to be together?

"What about us?"

Roderich flushed, clearing his throat.

"Perhaps I worded that wrong… we cannot all stay together, all 20 or so of us, but certainly there are some friendships that will endure…"

And then he, with a neatly folded tablecloth tucked under his arm, pulled her against his chest, his fingers playing absently in her long, rich russet curls as his amethyst eyes searched her bright emerald ones.

It was Elizaveta's turn to blush, standing on her tiptoes and pecking Roderich gently on the lips.

"Someday," she decided, "you're going to play a concerto for me that will make me fall for you all over again. Then we will get married and have adorable little piano-playing, camera-loving babies. Three of them, to be exact, two girls and a baby boy."

"Oh? And have you decided on their names?"

Roderich was teasing, but somehow he was unsurprised when she replied readily, "Ilona, Therese, and Roderich Jr."

"Well, that may happen or it may not happen," here he paused to clear his throat, color spreading over his face, "but one fact you can count on is that I will always love you…"

Elizaveta was as pink as a cherub, or a virgin maiden, but in the next moment that illusion was broken when, after surveying the rest of the backyard, she tugged sharply on Roderich's arm,

"We've cleaned enough. There is no rain in the forecast, so the decorations will survive."

"What…?"

Roderich almost wished he hadn't asked, because when she turned around she was giving him _that_ look, and he knew what that meant.

"I hope you have permission to spend the night," she whispered against him, "because you and I are going to have a lot of quality time in my room."

* * *

"I'm home!" Gilbert called out to no one in particular, pulling the door roughly shut behind him. It had been a while since he'd been at his house; he'd spent the previous night at Francis' place, and the night before graduation was spent in a sleepover at Antonio's Abuela's home. He paused in the doorway, crimson eyes falling shut as he inhaled deeply the scent of bratwurst and beer. He sighed softly, grateful that he lived in a house of German men.

"Where have you been?"

Gilbert froze, eyes opening suddenly; he had not seen his father sitting on the loveseat, having been too distracted at the joy of being home.

"I was at Liz's party," he managed once he recovered, "you know that. Ludwig was there too."

"No, that's not it…" His father murmured, and for the first time in his life Gilbert heard something melancholy and heavy in the man's voice.

No, he realized, it was not the first time in his life, just… the first time since his mother passed away. He paused, surveying his father for a moment, closer than perhaps he ever had. Ludovicus still looked very much as he did when Gilbert was a child; his hair was still longer than that of most girls Gilbert knew, and still had that one awkward braid in its midst, as if he fancied himself from an ancient era (Gilbert liked to joke that his old man acted at a Renaissance Fair as a serving wench). His clothes were sensible and pressed, though too stiff for the hot weather, and his brows were still in their default mode, furrowed. When he looked close, though, Gilbert found his father's face marred with wrinkles that had not been there when he was younger.

"Where have you been all these years…?"

Suddenly, it hit Gilbert that his father was _reminiscing_, which explained the photo album the albino had not seen, sitting open in the other's lap. It was slightly unnerving, to see someone so steeled and bored suddenly being sentimental.

But as quickly as the shock came over him, it faded, and Gilbert could only smile. Kicking off his flip flops, he bounded across the room and sat beside his father on the loveseat, looking over his shoulder at photos of himself, still a cherubic babe.

Oh, how things have changed.

"I've been right here, old man." Gilbert answered finally, rasping Ludovicus lightly on the side of his head, "Is your memory going fuzzy?"

The elder gave a soft chuckle, and Gilbert was incredulous.

"You know, I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before."

Ludovicus shrugged, flipping the page in the album. Gilbert was a little older now, but could hardly be more than eighteen months old. In most of the pictures he was playing with a slim woman, the same albino features as his own, and a grin that was nearly as bright as his.

"You know," the elder started, "your mother would have been very proud of you for making it so far."

Gilbert sighed, catching himself with a long, thin finger pressed against her face in one of the photos. He didn't pull it away.

"She always insisted that you were smart," Ludovicus added. "It's a good thing she never got to see your grades."

Gilbert pouted, and in a rare moment of tenderness Ludovicus ruffled his choppy white hair.

It was upon this scene that Ludwig opened the door, walking in with a, "Vater, I'm hom-oh."

Gilbert flushed, but there was a grin on his face nonetheless.

"Had fun sucking face with your Italian boy toy?"

Ludwig made a choked, spluttering noise, turning red to the tips of his ears in the exact way Gilbert did. Now the albino could almost see why Francis and Antonio had fun making him blush, but not quite enough to make it okay.

Ludovicus enjoyed it even less, hitting his older son on the head and looking up at the younger, "Did you have a nice day?"

"Yes, Vater." Ludwig coughed.

"Well, what're you standing over there for?" Gilbert cut in. "Come join us!"

And so he did, Gilbert taking the opportunity to ruffle and muss his brother's neatly gelled hair when Ludwig leaned over the back of the couch. Ludovicus chose to ignore the brawl that ensued, turning over to the next page of the album. Again Gilbert was the star, and aside from one picture of Ludovicus with him, the page was mostly full of photos of the boys' mother, this time with a belly that got bigger and rounder in each picture.

Ludwig, Gilbert noticed, looked awed, as if he had not considered the idea that he was in a woman's womb, at one point, before that moment. Which, considering it was Ludwig, he might actually not have. Gilbert chuckled, and when Ludwig came to the realization that he was being laughed at his cheeks turned pink once again. Ludovicus wordlessly turned the page.

Now there were pictures of Ludwig and Gilbert decorating the plain black page, everything from Gilbert staring in awe at a little pink baby wrapped in a light blue bundle, to a toddling Ludwig patting their old pet bunny on the head under Gilbert's proud watch.

They continued to look through the old photos in silence, none of them pointing out how much paler and frailer their mother got in each progressive photograph. There were only three more filled pages in the book, and on the last of these was only one photo.

Their mother, lying on her bed with white sheets pooled around her, a chubby pink Ludwig sitting in her lap, and a skinny little Gilbert standing on the mattress beside her, his arms thrown around her neck. Only Ludwig was not smiling, his face lost somewhere between confusion and comfort, and he was also the only one not looking at the camera. Gilbert and their mother, however, were both wearing near-identical grins, beaming at the camera as the sunlight strewn in from behind them.

Ludovicus closed the album.

"This house will be quiet without you," he mused, placing the album on the table. He was looking over at Gilbert with his usual expressionless face but somehow it was still understood that he was trying to say, 'We'll miss you.' Gilbert offered him a small smile,

"No shit. You two are as boring as cacti. But, I guess… I'll miss having cacti around."

Ludwig rolled his eyes, and Gilbert ruffled his hair some more, mussing it until it stood in all different directions.

"Now, you be sure to cause shitloads of trouble, okay?"

The brothers shared a look and a chuckle, and then Gilbert decided it was time they shared a hug, too.

And no, Gilbert told the voice in his head, hugging your baby brother is not sissy. In fact, it's totally awesome.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed without much incidence; after the party, Antonio reminded Lovino of his offer for the other to share his bed, and sure enough it did not take very much coaxing to get the other to agree.

So they'd gone home, helped Antonio's Abuela in preparing a light dinner, watched a movie with his cousin (Lovino, being too polite to curse in front of a little girl, was helpless as Antonio latched onto him in the dark room; Antonio would have to remember to give her a few cookies as a thank you), and then when it was time for bed they stripped down to their shorts and snuggled.

Somehow it seemed as if Lovino had been relieved, when Antonio pulled the other against his chest and started to play in his hair. Antonio wondered if perhaps the other did not like having sex with him, but when he asked Lovino turned red and spluttered that he liked this a lot better. Antonio had smiled, because he felt the same way, and waited until the other's breath eased and slowed before kissing his forehead and falling asleep.

That had been last night, though, and after a quick breakfast and a thank you to Antonio's guardian for letting him stay the night, Lovino had fled from the house. Antonio was upset, of course, but he opted not to take it personally; Lovi was just being shy, and he couldn't deny that it was very cute…

"Antonio, can you do me a favor?" his Abuela's voice cut into his thoughts, and the teen looked up.

"_Sí_?"

"I need you to go down to the store and pick up a few things for me, _mijo_," she said slowly, placing a short grocery list down on the table beside his unfinished breakfast. "You can go after you're done eating."

"No, its fine," he started, pushing his plate away. "I don't think I'm very hungry, so I'll go now."

Abuela gave him a quizzical look, "Are you sure you're alright, Toni?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, insisting, "Sure, I'm fine! Why, does it look like something is wrong?"

Antonio was honestly curious; if something were wrong that would explain his lack of appetite. But the old woman just gave him a soft smile, patting his hair and picking up the plate.

"Alright then," she replied. "Take your time."

Before he could ask what she meant, the other woman was out of the room, calling for his sleeping cousin to wake up.

Antonio sighed and pocketed the note, putting his plate in the kitchen. Leaving through the back door, he stretched his arms once the Sun kissed his skin. The grocery store, thankfully, was not too far away from their home, but even so Antonio did not mind the heat much and found himself enjoying the freedom of summer as he walked.

"Oh, hey, it's Antonio!" he heard, and when he turned around he spotted Sadiq, Heracles, and Gupta, sitting on the steps of the library, the former of the trio waving at him. He grinned and waved back, crossing the street and walking up to them.

"Hello!" he said, surveying them happily; the trio was each licking an ice cream cone, chocolate for Sadiq, strawberry for Heracles, and vanilla for Gupta, and all of them were dressed to battle the heat. Behind them the door to the library was barely opened, and from inside the occasional blur of movement could be seen.

"Hey," Heracles replied sleepily, and Gupta nodded with a soft smile.

Where're you goin'?" Sadiq asked the Spanish teen, taking a chomp out of his cone and getting ice cream all over his face. Heracles snorted, and the other shot him a glare, but a stern look from Gupta sent them both reeling back.

"I'm going to the store to get some stuff for Abuela."

"Is any of it stuff that she needs to make dinner?"

Antonio consulted the yellow list, "Nope, I don't think so. It's mostly cleaning stuff and some sweets."

"Well, then I don't think she'll mind if you spend time with us for a bit," Heracles murmured, "And maybe check out the museum, too; Gupta's mom set something up."

Antonio blinked, trying to peer into through the crack in the double doors, wondering what Heracles could be talking about. He knew about the interesting exhibitions Gupta's mother liked to set up; from what he knew, back when she and her son were still living in Egypt she worked as a curator and historian of Ancient Egyptian, Greek, and Roman artifacts. Then, for some reason that no one really knew, the mother and son moved here four years ago, and she took the mantle at the head of the bankrupt library, fixing it up and modeling it after the Library of Alexandria, with museum-like exhibits and lectures every so often. Heracles' mother, Ms. Karpusi, loved to punish her students by forcing them to attend these events, whether or not they were relevant to whatever she was teaching.

Still, student admission was free, and a lot of the time the things Ms. Hassan had collected were quite awesome, so it's not as if Antonio had ever minded.

"Sure. What is it?"

Gupta smiled and shook his head, and Sadiq supplied, "He's not telling, and he's made us all swear not to tell, either. You'll have to go in and see for yourself."

Antonio nodded, pausing for a moment and looking at the silent Gupta, "Hey, can I ask you something?"

The other nodded, and Antonio continued, "I was just curious about why you and your mom moved here…"

The Egyptian boy immediately frowned, if not subtly so. Antonio only noticed it because he was looking for it, but the other two perked up, looking curious, as if they'd either not noticed Gupta's frown or not cared.

"Man, I'd love ta hear this story," Sadiq mused, taking a final chomp of his ice cream cone. "Gupta's never told us before."

"And he doesn't have to now, either," Heracles countered quickly, giving Sadiq a dirty look. It was Gupta who shook his head, though, and looked at the three others.

"It's okay," he stated simply, before sighing and beginning his story.

Gupta set the scene for them, starting with himself, aged thirteen, sitting in his tutor's living room with another classmate to get extra lessons in English. Their tutor, he recalled, had to go answer a phone call and left the boys alone in the room, her voice trailing down the hallways clearly nonetheless. Suddenly, the other boy had shifted over beside him shyly and kissed him on the corner of his lips. Before Gupta could comment, or the boy could apologize, their tutor's footsteps were heard and they both scrambled to move apart.

From that day on, every time their tutor left the room, the other boy would approach Gupta with gentle kisses everywhere but his lips, and Gupta found that he could not deny the boy or himself the affections.

The first day they finally shared a true kiss, on the lips and all, sadly happened to be the very same day their tutor walked in on them without their noticing. Soon enough she had both their parents in her apartment, and the other boy's parents had not even waited until they had left to start scolding him. Soon the whole block knew, and the gossip spread like wildfire until everyone in their class was giving them looks and treating them as if they'd been infected by a disease, or even worse, as if they were agents of the Devil.

Gupta's mother, unsurprisingly, had not been too distressed at her son's homosexual behaviors. Instead, she actually confessed to him, in the safety of their own home, that she had had her own affairs with women, long before he was even an idea, and that she did not hate or think any less of him no matter who he grew up to be.

Still, there was the pressing matter of the gossipers, and of the increasingly bad treatment Gupta was suffering from his teachers and peers. So, his mother dug out an old notepad from her college days, and got to work making international calls to some old college friends who lived in the United States. Soon enough they'd managed to secure a home through these friends, and so they moved once they had their visas.

Gupta nodded gently when he finished, indicating the end of his story. It was the most any of them had heard of his voice, which Antonio noticed was soft and gentle, but also melodious and laced with a subtle accent that made it all the more appealing.

"Who were your mom's friends…?" Antonio asked next, now sitting on the sip beneath Gupta's and looking up at him.

"Remus Vargas and Helen Karpusi."

Heracles nodded lazily, "I remember that. My mom took me with her when she went to the airport to meet you." The Greek boy smiled, the quirk of his lips growing slowly on either side. Sadiq rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you might've met him first, but he likes me much better." He argued, winking at Gupta. Now it was for him to roll his eyes.

"I'm not going to fight with you now," Heracles decided, "it's hot."

He turned to Antonio, nudging him with his foot, "Do you wanna go inside?"

Antonio sat up, suddenly remembering the grocery list, and frowned. "Not right now, I should go run that errand for my Abuela. But maybe later…?"

"We'll be here," Sadiq confirmed, "haven't got anywhere else to go, yanno?"

Antonio nodded, waving at the trio and offering his goodbyes before continuing on to the grocery store.

_

* * *

To Be Continued_

I hope you all enjoyed it! Please leave any feedback, I'd love to hear from you.

crimson-obsidian-rose


	5. Part I Chapter V

I'm sorry the wait was so long, but I hope that you guys all think that chapter was worth it! This one is among my personal favorites, so without further ado I'll let you all at it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand, Part I Chapter V**

Arthur was on his way home from the store, bags laden with groceries so that he could prepare dinner for his father and brothers back home. The sweltering heat was causing him to sweat, and he cursed his own inability to wear in public any shirt without a collar; it was much too hot to be wearing a polo, even if all the buttons were undone. He paused, and lifted the arm with the lighter grocery bag to wipe the sweat off his brow with the back of his palm.

"Arthur?"

Upon hearing someone call him name, the bushy browed blond looked up. In the distance he made out the form of Ivan, sitting on one of the playground swings in the park abandoned by the heat. He was wearing a lavender t-shirt, Arthur noticed when he squinted, but his scarf was still around his neck.

Arthur realized that he was faced with a choice; he could politely tell Ivan that he needed to return home and make sure his brothers were well nourished so that they could continue to consume massive amounts of alcohol without dying or worse, which the other would no doubt deem important, or he could forget about his good for nothing family and take a moment's reprieve with a fellow graduate.

The choice, he realized, was obvious. Arthur strode over to the swing set, placing his grocery bags down and grateful for the trees shading the area. He paused for a moment, rolling his shoulders and inhaling deeply, before leaving a swing between himself and Ivan and sitting down. Instantly he felt the heat of the black swing cook his butt, but after a bit of shifting he had adjusted to the temperature and it no longer bothered him.

"Hello, Ivan," he started, sitting stationary and turning to the other, who was very barely moving back and forth.

"Hello, Arthur."

The other was beaming, probably finally ecstatic that he had company in the lonely, abandoned park. Arthur felt a little unnerved, if only slightly.

"How are you?"

"I'm doing well. It is very hot lately, but that is to be expected of summer."

"Well, perhaps it would not be as bad if you were not wearing your scarf?" After all, Arthur mused, it was making him hotter just looking at it.

Ivan gave him a funny look that made Arthur regret opening his mouth at all, and the British boy was quick to say, "Or maybe you should drink more cold fluids! That would make you a lot less warm!"

The other smiled, his expression softening instantly, "That is a good idea, friend. Fortunately, though, I will not have to worry about this much longer. I am going to go to college in a cold town, so they have very comfortable summers."

"Oh?" Arthur asked, pleased to have moved onto a topic he could get into a discussion about. "What are you going to study?"

"I am undecided."

"Hm… well, what are you considering? What do you want to study?"

Ivan hummed, "Well, in truth it is my dream to study philosophy…"

He was looking up at the sky, bright blue, clear except for a precious few fluffy white clouds, following, Arthur realized, a pigeon as it flew around in the distance. For a split moment, Arthur was filled with the sensation that the bird was no longer just a bird; they were looking up at Ivan's dreams; ordinary, but unattainable. He frowned,

"Well, why don't you, then?"

Ivan shrugged his shoulders, his swing creaking to a stopped. He sighed heavily, with a man with a thousand burdens on his shoulders.

"Philosophy is not practical. I have to make enough money to support my sisters and my uncle and whoever else becomes dependent upon me."

Arthur frowned, "Your sisters are smart enough to be able to handle themselves when the time comes." He argued, but Ivan gave him a rueful smile and shook his head.

"They are my sisters. They are girls. It is my job to take care of them until they are married, and…"

Ivan flushed, and Arthur realized the other was embarrassed to reveal he did not think his sisters would get married.

"Nonsense," he countered, "They are both smart and beautiful women."

"Katya is a crybaby, and Natalya is crazy," Ivan snapped bluntly, "As much as I love them, I cannot delude myself into believing anyone else will."

Of course, Arthur realized; Ivan did not want to get his hopes up, in case they were not married and he was left responsible for them.

"It's too soon for you to be so bitter…" He murmured, and Ivan perked up.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

"No, nothing."

"Hm, because I believed I something."

"No, it must have been the wind," Arthur lied, though his fists clenched more tightly on the metal chain handles of his swing. Ivan gave him a look which he matched with a stare, until the other turned away.

"I am not bitter," he started, his voice low and deep, "I am happier than ever. I have the chance to start over and not make so many mistakes. It is like when the snow is not yet stepped in, and one cannot tell what is beneath it; no one will know from where I have come or even who I am."

Now Arthur did not even try to hide his frown. "But what about your friends here? You sound like you're relieved that high school is over; aren't you going to miss them?"

Ivan laughed; it was hard and bitter and _caustic_; the sound of it sent shivers down of dread and hurt down Arthur's spine.

"Friends? I did not have friends. No one looked out for me or cared about me, so there is nothing to keep me attached enough to the school or this town that I would miss it."

"Ivan…"

He laughed again, but this one was not as angry as it was hurt.

"And now you take on a tone of sympathy, as if you might understand my pain," he murmured. "But you cannot understand it, Arthur, because you were popular."

Arthur was, for a moment, stricken speechless. "I… I was not."

Ivan shook his head at the protest, "You were the Student President, no? Everyone knows that political races in schools are just popularity contests."

"And that explains why people teased me," Arthur snorted. "It's not a surprise that I won, given that I was running unopposed!"

Ivan snorted, "They teased you because they cared about you. Your friends are bastards, but they are still your friends and that is how they chose to express that to you."

He paused then, and sighed, finishing in a whisper, "Please, do not take your friends for granted. You are luckier to have them than you realize."

Arthur paused as well, his mouth trying to form words out of the incoherent ideas in his head. He wanted to comfort the other, to do something that could possibly make him start to look at the past in a new light, a better one…

"…When I first moved here, I wasn't popular, either. I didn't have any friends, no one was used to my accent or my mannerisms, everyone liked to make fun of my eyebrows… But I endured all that, and I hardly noticed it. It's like you said, they're all bastards with a sick way of showing that they are my friends, but maybe your friends are the same?"

Ivan did not answer, and Arthur dared to hope that maybe he was considering what he was saying.

"You had friends, Ivan, you always have. It just wasn't friendship like, I don't know, Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio's, or Matthew and José's, but that's because you're not them. You treat people differently from the way that others do, and so they treat you differently too. It doesn't mean that they aren't going to miss you, or that they didn't enjoy your company."

Ivan's face twisted into something the other could not recognize from looking, but his intuition told him that the other was still hurting.

"Perhaps that is true for you, Arthur. And perhaps it is true all these people have special ways of interacting with their friends. But I am not stupid, yes? I know that people are afraid of me.

"No, they aren't!"

"Then, why is there an empty swing between us?"

Arthur froze; he knew that he could blame the heat, or make up an excuse about that swing being broken or dirty, but when it came down to it he knew that Ivan was not going to believe anything other than what he already believed, and that was that Arthur, like everyone else, did not like him.

So he stood up, and stepping over the soft padding on the floor, he put a hand under Ivan's chin and tilted his head to ensure that they were eye to eye.

"I will miss you," Arthur stated decidedly, making it a point that just the same way Ivan's mind could not be changed, neither would his. "I will miss you because you were one of the most kind and caring people in our school. Because you helped me plant flowers around the front entrance to make the school look nicer even though it made the other boys laugh at us. Because you would always save bits of bread from your lunch and feed stray cats with it on your way home from school. Because you also took the time to think about what you were about to say, and because you never let the things others said get to you.

"I am going to miss you, Ivan. And I'm not the only one."

Finally, slowly, the other smiled. It grew on his face like it would on a child's, lighting up his expression so that someone who would just walking by would not have believed there was a maelstrom on his face moments ago.

Arthur took a step back and allowed the other to stand, feeling very short as Ivan towered over him.

"Thank you," he said simply, melting away all of Arthur's worries. "Good luck to you."

Arthur nodded, "See you around."

Ivan smiled again, a childish quirk of the lips, before waving and taking off in the direction of his home. Arthur watched until his figure faded in the distance, and turned back to retrieve his groceries.

Instead of picking them up, though, he sat back down on the swing, kicked off with his legs, and, with the sun beating down on his head and the dust being kicked up around his feet, Arthur swung.

'_Tomorrow_,' he thought to himself, '_Tomorrow I am going to board a plane and go back to England and grow up. But for today, this is enough_.'

* * *

On the horizon, the sun was just beginning to set; in Arthur's kitchen, the sink was full of dishes. He stared at the pile with distaste, tossing the dishtowel, still dry, onto the counter beside the mountain of dirty dishes.

"I cooked tonight," he declared, "someone else can clean up."

They wouldn't clean up, though, Arthur was certain of this. His brothers would fight over who had to do it, they'd opt to settle it was a drinking contest, and soon enough they would all be wasted enough that when they awoke with throbbing hangovers none of them would remember the dishes at all, much less who was the first of them to pass out.

The blond sighed, wondering if his brothers would, in their drunken stupor, remember that he was going home to England. Back to England. Home to England. Arthur knew there was a sharp distinction, and he frowned at being unable to decide which of them was more appropriate. It didn't really matter, if they noticed or not; Alfred's mother had already offered to take him to the airport and see him off months ago, so he did not need their help.

The sound of the water dripping from the faucet of the kitchen sink drew his attention back to it. He rolled his eyes, turned the tap shut properly, and when the water stopped dripping a sudden idea make itself known in his mind.

'_I'm_ _going to Francis' place today_.'

And, without arguing with himself, or even questioning the thought, he pulled a pair of shoes on his feet and stepped out into the thick, dusk air.

* * *

Francis was alone in his bedroom, sitting there in the dim light only because it was the smallest room in his big empty home and it was the only place in the house so full of life. His mother had come home sometime very early that morning, before the Sun had even started to rise, but she was gone again before the large grandfather clock in the entrance had even struck noon. She had, when he rose for breakfast, congratulated him from behind her newspaper, and then slipped him two checks, one for his tuition and the other, a present.

Francis sighed, catching sight of the check on his desk and frowning. He turned his attention to elsewhere in his room, anywhere. He always thought that this room had a life of its own, not because of any of his doing, but in truth thanks to the efforts of Antonio and Gilbert, and the last 15 years of friendship. Ever since they had started hanging out in his room, they had started to leave things behind here, which Francis would find a place for among his things. Soon, they started to intentionally leave things behind, and even started to bring things with specific sections of Francis' room. The beanbag chairs, he recalled, had been found by Gilbert when a neighbor was tossing them out, and after the trio put some love into fixing them up the albino had insisted they be placed near his closet, under the window.

Those were the most notable of the additions to his room, but Francis felt there was much more significance in the smaller things; a handprint Antonio make in Kindergarten and left at his house, promptly forgetting about it. Or Gilbert's lucky keychain, abandoned when it failed him on one too many tests in the fourth grade, that was now hanging on his lampshade. Or any of the other entirely meaningful knickknacks he'd kept, ones that made him caretakers cluck at his packrat habits, but he knew that there was no way he could explain why these things were important enough to keep.

Francis' entire life was defined by the company he kept, after all. And now he was going to lose that company…

The doorbell rang. Francis was only slightly startled, and he was quick to get his hopes up, that it would be Gilbert or Antonio or…

Arthur. Arthur was standing on his porch when he opened the door, the sky crimson behind him, his chest heaving with pants as if he'd run to Francis' home.

"Arthur…?"

"Francis… I…" The other trailed off, still breathing heavily. "May I come in…?"

"Oh! Of course, Arthur; is everything alright?"

Now, in the light of his living room, Francis could see that the other's cheeks were flushed from something other than exhaustion.

"I'm fine," he snapped, "I just…"

He paused again, looking away from Francis' concerned gaze, down to the carpet underfoot.

"I'm going away tomorrow." Arthur whispered, biting his lip as his fists clenched. "I'm leaving…"

Francis, not knowing what else, took a cautious step forward, brushing his fingers in the other's hair.

"Come," he murmured, "let's go upstairs."

They relocated; Francis shut the door to his room as Arthur gravitated to sit on the edge of his primly made bed. The sheets wrinkled under his weight, and from there Francis' gaze moved to the other's ass, up his lean torso, all the way to his distressed face.

"Arthur," Francis started, stepping forward so that he was sitting down in the chair beside the foot of his bed. "Talk to me. What is bothering you?"

The other looked over at him, his thick eyebrows furrowed over his eyes, and Francis' could feel him grinding his teeth.

"I just… I never noticed what applying to a school abroad would mean. Up until now, I was excited; returning to England, studying British literature, gaining a new experience, moving away from my insane brothers and useless father…

"But suddenly, I just… I realized that I was leaving something important behind."

"Arthur…"

"You, Francis. Fuck, I never… I never wanted to admit to myself how endearing your annoying voice was, and how warm you are-"

Arthur paused suddenly, as if only just realizing how embarrassing the things he was saying were, and his face turned bright red very quickly. Francis knew the look, and he knew that if he did not say anything Arthur would deny everything and stomp out of his room.

And this time, he would be stomping out of his life, too.

So he shook his head lightly, and wound his long, lithe fingers around Arthur's chin, bringing their faces close together and brushing his nose against the other's.

"Arthur," he murmured softly, "I love you. For a while, I loved to hate you, to tease you, to mock and leer at you and to make you feel bad. Perhaps I was just an evil child," he chuckled softly against the other's earlobe, "or perhaps, maybe, I just wanted to be able to make you feel _something_."

"Francis," the other said, his voice shaking as he tried to turn a breath into a grumble. Francis shushed him softly, before pulling away, Arthur's scent and feel still overwhelming his senses.

"We do not have to have sex if you do not want to, Arthur. For tonight, instead, we can just talk."

Arthur nodded, placing his arms at his sides and relaxing, if only subtly, into the mattress. He was looking around, taking everything in slowly,

"I never realized how cluttered your room was."

"It's not clutter," Francis tsked. "They are memories."

Arthur shrugged, "Or you're just a packrat. You've kept everything, haven't you?" He reached over to Francis' nightstand, and picked up a red yoyo, "Like this. What is this?"

"It was Gilbert's. He hit his brother in the head with it one too many times, so his father did not allow him to play with it; he smuggled it here for safe keeping."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Figures. He probably did it on purpose, too. Thank God Ludwig turned out to be nothing like him."

"And not brain damaged," Francis added, taking the yoyo and placing it aside.

Arthur gave a soft laugh, before falling silent once again.

"Hey… do you have anything of... ours?"

Francis paused for a moment, and then he stood up slowly, taking confident, quick strides into his closet. He vanished in there for a moment, before returning with a navy blue blazer, now too small to fit either of them, if only just barely.

"Do you remember this?"

Arthur's face was split between incredulousness and awe, and he murmured, "My old blazer…"

Francis nodded, placing it in Arthur's lap, "From our first date. I was getting cold, and you offered it to me."

"Yeah," Arthur smiled, "And when you came to return it I refused because it was covered in the germs of your filthy French ancestry."

They both laughed, Francis placing his hand on top of the blazer in the other's lap.

"Wait, Arthur, I have something else."

The British boy perked up, and Francis had crossed over to a box that was sitting in between the beanbag chairs, and had been since the night of their graduation.

He returned with a photo, placed in an elegant, simple picture frame, and placed it face down in Arthur's lap, watching his face with the other flipped it over.

"This is… a picture from the night of our freshman formal, isn't it?" Arthur asked, his eyes watering slightly as one of his fingers brushed down the edge of the photo. He was smiling, Francis was relieved to note.

"Yes," he agreed, "it is. It is also a photo from the night I fell in love with you."

"I- I… what…?"

Francis tucked a lock of his bangs behind his ear, gesturing to the photograph with his other hand,

"I remember the moment exactly; you and Alfred had been dating this year, despite that you were in high school and he still in junior high. You had been adamant about the fact that you were not going to come to the dance, because you said you would never waste an evening spending time with us, but everyone believed it was because Alfred was not allowed. But then you showed up-"

"Alfred and I had had a fight."

Francis nodded, "You came, because you thought it would make him jealous, and you were angry with him. But you were miserable; you did not speak to anyone, you did not get up to dance, nothing…"

Now, Francis smiled, "And then Elizaveta, bless her, approached you shyly and handed you a flower. And she told you…?"

Arthur gave a crooked smile at the memory, "She told me to get off my ass and go find love out there. I took the flower and told her I would, but after she left with Roderich and I rolled my eyes and scoffed."

"And I saw you then, with that non-believing look on your face, twirling the flower between your fingers, your eyes looking up at the ceiling in mocking, and it made my heart pound like it never had before."

"R-Really…? That was it?" Arthur shook his head, "You're an absolute loon."

"Perhaps," Francis agreed, "but it was the first time I'd ever seen you look so… lonely but happy. I wondered what it would look like on your face if that loneliness was taken away, and you were only happy. I wondered what it would look like if I was the one who made you happy."

Arthur shrugged, unable to keep the smile tugging at his lips off his face.

"Well," he murmured, standing and wrapping his arms around the other's neck, "I should think it would look a little something like this."

Francis beamed, brushing his fingers in the coarse strands of the other's thick blond hair, "I hope you do not mind if I kiss you, right now."

"At the risk of sounding clichéd, I would be offended if you didn't."

And so, without any more preamble, Francis kissed Arthur. Slow, deep, passionate, moving his mouth against the other's gently, taking care not to let it turn hungry and wanton. Nothing good ever came out of a situation where these two abandoned romance for lust, and while usually it did not matter too much, today every small gesture meant a millions things to Francis.

So when they parted for air, Francis took the moment to take in Arthur's every eyelash, every freckle; his eyes were moist, his lips were full and wet, and his nose and cheeks were dusted with pink as if someone had sprinkled powered color over them. It was endearing, it was alluring, and best of all it was all for him.

"I love you, Arthur."

The other paused, turning redder, and his voice was barely audible when he murmured back, "I love you too, Francis."

Francis pulled away. He took a step back, appraised the other from the small distance, "Do you remember what happened next, at our formal?"

"H-huh… oh. Yes, well, after that, you approached me. You leered at me with that nymphomaniac stare of yours, bowed at the waist so that your eyes were looking at my crotch, and asked if I would like to dance."

Francis rolled his eyes, "Of course, and despite all of that you decided to say yes." He was deadpanning, and Arthur frowned.

"Well, perhaps it was not that obvious, but knowing you now I'm sure that is what you were thinking. Not to mention you took advantage of my loneliness, and then without waiting for my say in the matter you swept me off my feet-"

"See?"

"-Quite literally so, I may add; you almost dropped me."

Francis laughed, patting the other's hair, "And then we danced. Do you remember what song we danced to?"

"Of course not!"

He laughed again, striding over to his iPod dock and hitting play. Light, slow music started up, and Arthur found himself remembering suddenly the moment in the gymnasium, which smelled of sweat and had cheap decorations falling from the walls, when Francis held him close and murmured-

"Monsieur Kirkland, may I have this dance?"

Arthur flushed, shyly placing his hand in the other's outstretched, offered palm. Francis smiled, winding their fingers tightly together and pulling the other close with a hand in the small of his back. Arthur made a soft noise, before his rested his free palm atop Francis' shoulder.

They swayed together, moving back and forth slowly, their footsteps light as they slid across the carpeting. The music continued to croon from the speakers, and Arthur was becoming lost in it; Francis knew this because there were no other circumstances that would allow Arthur rest his head against his chest so tenderly, so lovingly. It made a blush creep up his cheeks, and he tilted his own head so it would rest atop the other's-

The song changed to something loud and incomprehensible; probably put on his iPod by Gilbert. It shattered the illusion instantly, and Francis swore at Gilbert under his breath when Arthur pulled away.

"Hn…" He cleared his throat, face bright red as he kicked the floor. "That was… a good dance."

"It was," Francis agreed, scowling as he shut the infernal, annoying, angering music off. "Stupid Gilbert…" He hit the iPod dock once for good measure, hard.

Francis froze before he could land a second blow when the sound of a light, soft giggle was heard coming from behind him. Slowly he turned around to find Arthur laughing into his palm.

"You look so ridiculous when you're angry," he chuckled.

"But it killed the mood!" Francis gestured wildly, before pouting and crossing his arms over his chest. "It's being mean to me!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, a chuckle falling from his lips again as he shook his head. Francis felt his heart thump as the smile he could not keep in spread over his face.

"Oh, poow baby Fwancis," he mocked, "was the music pwaya being mean?"

"Yes," Francis repeated indignantly, stomping his foot down for dramatic effect. "And only one thing can make me happy again."

A thick eyebrow rose, "And that would be?"

"I need a kiss from a fair virgin maiden."

Arthur snorted none too gently, "Good luck finding one in this town; between you and your so called 'Bad Touch' comrades, I wouldn't be surprised if the only virgins in this town are babies."

"Good point," Francis agreed, giving him a sly smile before gripping him tightly by the arms, "I suppose you'll have to do."

"W-What?"

"You came to my home for a reason," Francis murmured, suddenly sober. "Didn't you? Something that brought you to me and no one else, or else you would have gone to see Alfred."

Arthur scowled, pulling away, "You don't have to keep mentioning him, you know. Whatever happened between him and I ended a long time ago."

"Your virginity, Arthur? You gave it to him?"

Arthur tried to maintain his composure, even as color spread down his neck. No doubt thinking of the incident, Francis realized.

"Y-Yes. And in return he gave me his – Francis, there's no need for you to be jealous!"

"I'm not jealous." He was _very_ jealous; there was a difference.

Arthur huffed and sat himself down on the floor, resting against the frame of Francis' bed; he gestured for the other to sit opposite him with a snap, "We need to talk. Now."

Francis complied, giving him a look, "Yes?"

"Whatever happened between me and Alfred happened a long time ago, back when he was much better company than you because at least he didn't tease me every day over things I couldn't control. He made me feel safe and sheltered, things you were too immature to give, Francis."

When he fell silent Francis opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur shushed him by holding up a finger.

"I'm not done yet. I'm just figuring out the right words… Hn. Our first time was not perfect, but it was still probably better than anything you could have given me. Alfred cared about me, Francis."

"And I don't?"

"You _didn't_."

Francis pouted, leaning back against his chest of drawers, the little handle knobs digging into his back.

"Is he bigger than me?" he asked finally.

"Francis!"

"I need to know; it's a matter of pride!"

"In that case," Arthur smirked, "he's much larger."

Francis pouted even more, before both boys let their laughter ease their expressions.

"You know, Arthur, I really have cared for you for a long time."

"W-Why?" he murmured, looking away to the carpet for a moment before swallowing and looking back up. "I'm not… anything special."

"You are to me," Francis insisted kindly. He crawled across the carpet, leaning forward on his palms in front of the other. "You were always so… endearing. You seemed so mature, so polished when you first moved here. When you're angry, it's impassioning, and when you're happy, it's uplifting. Something about you has always had something in me hooked…"

Francis leaned in further, brushing his fingers through the other's bangs, tucking a few of the longer locks behind the other's ear. Arthur gave a soft shudder.

"F-Francis…" he breathed, and the other gave a questioning hum, prompting him to continue, "I think I changed my mind… I mean…"

Francis nuzzled his cheek gently with his nose, and Arthur dropped his voice down to a whisper, "I want to do it."

If Francis was taken off guard, and he was, he did not want to let Arthur see it. He sighed softly, blowing out into the other's ear, smiling when he shuddered.

"Alright, Arthur, we can do it. If you are sure."

"I am sure," he insisted, but there was a waver in his voice. "B-But…"

Francis pulled back a bit, to look the other in eyes, "Hm? Arthur?"

"T-This is going to be our last time," Arthur murmured, looking away and unable to keep the quaver from his voice. "I… I don't want to have sex. I want… to make love."

The distinction, the tone, the sudden burning look in the other's eyes; all of the impact of the moment made Francis move backwards ever so slightly.

Then, as if responding to Arthur's request wordlessly, Francis leaned over and undid the only done button of the other's polo, before sliding his hand up the other's neck. He pressed his thumb over Arthur's pounding pulse, and slowly he leaned in to press their lips together once more.

Arthur melted against him with a soft noise of content, his arms wrapping around Francis' torso, one to tangle in the roots of his hair and the other to squeeze him tightly around the waist. They shifted, until Francis was sitting in Arthur's lap, leaning over him and kissing while Arthur had his head tilted up. Their hands touched and stroked and caressed as their lips parted to let their tongues mingle.

When the time came to brake for air, Francis swept in and started pressing soft, moist kisses all along the other's jaw, nipping softly just under his ear. Arthur shuddered, his shaky fingers slowly undoing the buttons going down Francis' shirt; a few moments later, when he was done, Francis pulled back so the fabric could be eased off his shoulders.

"This is…?" Francis gasped softly, questioningly; Arthur paused and looked at him, face flushed and sweaty already.

"T-Too fast… W-We have all night…"

Francis nodded, and took a few deep breaths to relax his pulse. Already he could feel something stirring in his pants, and he willed himself to calm, to relax, to be loving and not lusting over the boy in whose lap he was sitting. Francis looked down, and noted that the other was suffering from the same lustful urge as he was, and to ease it for them both he pressed a gentle peck to Arthur's upper lip.

"Strip," he whispered. Arthur complied by pulling his polo up off his head, tossing it aside and exposing just how far down his body his blush had spread.

Francis made a noise of content, sliding his fingers firmly over the other's firm skin. Arthur's body was clean, but it was not smooth, he noted, and there were a great deal of small freckles sprinkled over his torso.

"You're beautiful," he murmured reverently, and Arthur made an embarrassed noise and hit him gently over the head.

"S-so are you…" he amended, and then his rough fingers were all over Francis's chest, stroking the ripples under his pecs (as Gilbert's friend, he'd been dragged to the gym a few times) and flicking his thumbs over the nipples, which hardened. Arthur smirked.

They continued on like this, a lazy exploration of one another's bodies, creating maps of each other based on the noises each touch emitted; Arthur purred when Francis' palm caressed his bum (by this point, he was too relaxed to even be embarrassed about it), and when Arthur stroked his fingers along the back of his knee, Francis squeaked.

It was after nearly forty minutes of this, of touches the went from light to deep and kisses that tried to cover every square centimeter of skin, that Arthur placed a hand around Francis' wrist and directed it down to his hardened, red arousal.

"Arthur?"

"N-Now, Francis. Please…"

Francis smiled, nodding and directing all of his attentions to that one bit of anatomy. Spurred on by his own excitement and the other's soft noises of approval, even the rare moan of his name, Francis found himself wishing that he could make this moment last forever. It was a fleeting wish, and a foolish one, but looking down upon Arthur's flushed cheeks and his body spread for Francis' hands, he wanted nothing more.

So he decided, since he couldn't make it last, he would make it count. After moving them to rest on his much softer bed, Francis moved slowly, deliberately, touching all the places that he had learned make the other feel the best until Arthur was calling out his name and gripping onto his body as he shook in ecstasy.

Francis was not far behind, and a moment later they were lying on his mattress, side by side, sheets a wild mess around them, as the panted their bodies back to stillness.

"I love you…" Arthur murmured against his collarbone, their sweaty bodies rubbing together as he shifted closer. Francis wrapped his arms tightly around the other, ready to never let him go.

"I love you too, Arthur. Always."

"D-Do you want to sleep now…?"

"Do you?"

Arthur shook his head as best he could from so close to Francis' body. "I want us to talk."

"Oh? What about, _mon cher_?"

"I don't know…" Arthur murmured, his fingers playing with the tips of Francis' hair. The other smiled,

"You like it? It's funny, Gilbert has the same habit-"

Arthur's glare cut him off, but his tone, while stern, was not angry. "I'd like to ask you not to mention him again tonight. Nor Antonio, nor Alfred. Not anyone but us."

Francis kissed the other's forehead, "As you wish."

Arthur sighed, "I guess… despite everything, all the years of rivalry and fighting… I've always envied you."

Francis paused, taking in the softness of the other's whisper against his skin, the cool relief of his breath against the sweat on his neck. He brushed his fingers in Arthur's hair, feeling its coarseness scratch at his skin. He nipped softly on his earlobe, tasting the saltiness of his sweaty skin, and he when he buried his nose against the other's skin the scent he tried to imprint the scent into his memory.

"Francis…?"

"I have always envied you, too. You never needed anything but your personality to attract others, and you did not put up with the people who did not regard you kindly. I wish I had that sort of gift."

"What do you mean? You're charming and charismatic, at the very least."

"My, my, was that a compliment, Arthur?"

"Don't get used to it, frog."

Francis laughed, hugging the other even more tightly. "I will not lie and say that I do not appreciate being charismatic and charming, but I am afraid that because of how I grew up I have grown used to using my body in all sorts of ways that perhaps I regret now."

"Does that mean you would take back all those times you've had sex?"

"…No," Francis answered finally, heaving a sigh. "I wish I could, but all those times I did it, it is because I needed it. I craved someone's attention, Arthur, and perhaps I thought sex was the only way I could get it."

"…You know, I really fucking hate your parents."

"As do I," Francis agreed, guiltily remembering the check on his dresser. "But it is not something we have any control over. Your father is not so great either."

"I don't need him. I don't need anyone…"

"Except me…?"

Arthur made a soft noise that Francis chose to interpret as a yes, before he yawned.

"Getting sleepy?"

"N-no, I can't sleep now… T-This… this is my last night here. I can't let it waste away…"

Francis kissed the other's forehead gently, and then he ducked his head lower to kiss the tears out of his emerald eyes.

"It will not be wasted, Arthur, love. I will hold onto you all night."

"P-Promise…?" Arthur murmured, voice thick with sleep.

"I promise. Goodnight, _mon coeur_."

"G-…G-goodnight, Francis…"

Francis hummed, keeping himself up for a few minutes, watching as the other's breath evened out, slowly but surely. Arthur was asleep, now, Francis realized as he brushed the others bangs away from his forehead; he was asleep now and this might be his very last time seeing that serenity on his face.

So Francis did all he knew to do; he leaned over and pressed the gentlest, most chaste of kisses on Arthur's lip, before resting beside him on the bed and falling asleep with him.

His arms stayed secure around Arthur's body for the entirety of the night.

_To Be Continued_

* * *

Thank you guys all for reading, and Happy New Year!

crimson-obsidian-rose


	6. Part I Chapter VI

Sorry for the long wait, everyone ^^;

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

**

* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand, Part I Chapter VI**

The next morning when Francis awoke, the sun was barely shining in through the window, and that was not the only thing that was wrong.

"A-Arthur…?" he mumbled, trying to regain his vision and find the other, panic already beginning to set in. They had had such a good night for the first time in a long time, and this was their last day, their last little piece of a day, and if Arthur had left him without saying goodbye-

"I'm right here, Francis."

He sighed in relief at the sound of Arthur's voice, and in the shadows he could barely make out the other's figure, pulling up his pants.

"A-Are you going…?"

"I have to," came the remorseful reply. "My flight is in six hours, and I've got to go home and shower and then get to the airport and check in…"

"Do you need a ride…?"

"No, its fine, Mrs. Jones is taking me. She promised me she would a while ago."

Francis frowned, until a weight rested down beside him on the mattress.

"I…I'm going to miss you, Francis."

"And I you," the blond was quick to reply, causing Arthur to give a forced chuckle.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

They kissed once, twice, a third one longer and deeper than the other two before Arthur stood up and pulled his shirt on.

"I… must be going…"

"I understand." No, Francis didn't, because he couldn't understand how one could leave a lover behind. But this was a good opportunity for Arthur, and as someone who loved him he had to make sacrifices.

'_If you love someone, you let them go._'

"Bye…" Arthur whispered, his voice cracking over the syllable.

"G-Goodbye..."

The door to Francis' bedroom was shut, and he was left in it, alone and colder than he had ever been before.

* * *

Arthur hated airports. Sure, they were generally efficient places, well maintained and usually also well organized; basically everything he loved in his own life. Still there was something melancholy about an airport that unsettled him from the moment he set foot inside.

There were people everywhere, with luggage that varied from being big enough to fit him inside, to small camping back packs and shoulder bags. Everyone was scrambling around, gesturing to their family members, pushing carts that had been haphazardly stacked and looking for the right gate to their airline. And he stood frozen in the midst of all this, passport and boarding pass in hand and bags checked in; he was ready to go.

Mrs. Jones and Alfred had already left, at his request, after a touching goodbye that Arthur found he could hardly remember in light of his current heartache. He walked around the airport aimlessly, his gate still not open as of yet, trying to find something that could distract him from his thoughts.

Namely, Francis Bonneyfoy. He'd spent so many of the past few years ignoring any feelings he might have for the other, using the excuses that he was too rough, uncouth, uncivilized, ill mannered, unfaithful, a boy who slept around, untrustworthy, a liar… but the previous night had changed all that. He had gone to Francis looking for comfort, and found instead something better.

He found love. Arthur wasn't stupid enough to try and deny it anymore, because this was the love that he had read about and seen and written about in his own stories, the ones that had gotten him accepted to the University of Cambridge. This was the story of Belle and the Beast, of two people who did not seem like they belonged together until they put those external differences aside and took each other for what they really were.

…Perhaps it was time he left the greeting cards and candies' store.

As he strode down the clean hall of the airport waiting area, Arthur looked out the window and saw his plane sitting near the gate, being packed with bags and most likely cleaned out on the inside as well, being prepared for takeoff. And then he came to the realization that even though he had his passport and his boarding pass and even though he was checked in and his tuition was covered, Arthur was not ready for takeoff.

"Arthur!" he heard his name echo down the hall, and in that voice he so badly wanted to hear that for a moment he refused to turn around.

It hardly mattered, though, because a moment after that someone's body was impacting with his and turning him around and hugging him like their life depended on it and he didn't even have to open his eyes to know who it was, though he could not remember closing them in the first place.

"F-Francis…" he choked, burying his face in the other's shoulder and inhaling that deep, warm, familiar scent. "W-Why… How are you here?"

"I drove here. I decided after you left that I did not say goodbye as properly as I wanted to."

"Francis…"

The other pulled away, and gave Arthur a warm smile; for the first time he noticed the other's eyes were red-rimmed.

"Here," Francis started, pushing a large yellow envelope against Arthur's chest. "That is for you. It is a gift. Do not open it until you are in your seat in the plane, alright?"

"I won't," Arthur murmured, gripping the envelope as if it could tell him what was inside. He licked his lips and sighed, "I didn't… get anything for you…"

Francis shushed him with a smile, brushing his fingers again in the other's hair and sliding them down his cheek.

"You gave me the best night of my life," he replied, "and that is all the present I need."

A loudspeaker announcement went off, then, asking all passengers boarding the flight direct to London to please go to the designated gate. Arthur's heart felt like it was being squeezed painfully by the voice, until Francis swept him off his feet into a long, dizzying kiss.

"Will I see you again?" he asked against Arthur's mouth quietly, but not nervously.

"I… I'm not coming back until I have my Doctorate."

Francis pulled back and gave him a sad smile, "Ah, but that means you are coming back."

Arthur nodded, and he became unable to open his mouth as tears began to slip out of his eyes and slide down his cheeks.

Francis moved in to brush the tears away with the pad of his thumb, but soon the storm that had been building in his own eyes started, and tears spilt down his own face.

"Francis…"

"One more kiss. Give me one more kiss, Arthur, and I will be fine."

So Arthur leaned in, gripping the other around the shoulder with his free arm, and pressed their lips together in a kiss that was neither chaste nor wanton, but needy and lasting so that their lips were still tingling when he pulled away, and took a step back.

"G-Goodbye, Francis…"

"See you soon," he replied with a slight wave of his hand, and Arthur nodded, smiling back at him.

Then he turned around, headed for the gate, and it took all of his self control for him to not look back.

When he was seated on the plane, seatbelt strapped, shoes kicked off, Arthur opened the envelope. Inside of it were two things: the photo of him and Francis on the night of their freshman formal four years ago, and a check made out to him in the amount of two hundred dollars, with a note on the back: '_Just some money to get you started on your new life_.

* * *

It was late afternoon, and Gilbert was sitting outside the corner store, a cherry Popsicle hanging out of his mouth. Even though it was hot and the Popsicle was beginning to melt, he was licking it lazily, not paying it much heed even as the bright red syrup dripped onto his shirt.

Every so often, when an old woman was passing by, Gilbert would hold onto the stick with both hands and push the icy treat in and out of his mouth in a manner that very much resembled something vulgar; it always made him laugh when he made an innocent old woman flush and curse him out.

It almost made him sad that this was what he was reduced to; Francis had come home from seeing Arthur off to the airport with puffy red eyes and had asked if maybe he could be left alone for a while, and he looked so miserable and downtrodden Gilbert did not even feel up to poking fun at his expense. Antonio was off somewhere, probably with Lovino, but also possibly out spoiling his cousin; the boy loved children more than should have been normal for an eighteen year old.

That left Gilbert to be a lone ranger, being inappropriate in public and scaring pigeons away from his lonely curbside post.

"H-Hey, Gilbert…?"

"Huh?" Gilbert looked up when suddenly the sunlight was blocked from his face (shade!), and found himself squinting into the Sun to make out the features of one Matthew Williams.

"Oh, hey. What brings you over to this side of town? You wanna hang out with the awesome me, huh? Can't say I blame ya."

"Y-Yeah," Matthew agreed, gesturing to the spot beside Gilbert on the curb, "May I?"

Gilbert shrugged, "It's a free sidewalk."

Matthew sat down with the faintest hint of a grin on his face, "Well, I did see you scaring those pigeons away earlier, so I wanted to be sure."

Gilbert snorted. "Hmmmmmm… well, since you're slightly more awesome than a pigeon, I'll let it slide."

Matthew smiled, resting his elbows on his knees; it was then that Gilbert noticed a small box in his lap, modestly wrapped in brown paper.

"What's that?"

The blond flushed, his tone a bit flustered when he answered, "Well, it's a gift…"

"A gift?" Gilbert echoed, grinning. "For me, no doubt."

"Yeah, it is. It's a… combined graduation and moving away gift. You're finally going to get that totally awesome bachelor pad you wanted."

The albino snorted, "Dude, I checked the dorms out, and they're not quite that awesome."

"But you being there is going to make them awesome, isn't it?"

Gilbert paused, suddenly, giving Matthew an intense look; the younger boy quivered a bit under his stare.

"I've trained you well," he decided, resting back against the dirty, chipped lamp post. He reached out for the parcel in the other's lap and snatched it away.

"So, a gift for me?"

"Yes..."

"Can I open it now? Or are you one of those pansy types that want me to open it at a special moment?" Gilbert cackled.

Matthew shrugged, "Now is fine. I know you have the patience of a three year old after the promise of cake."

Gilbert pouted, before he decided that it was not something worth pouting over; he had the box in his hands, after all. "There's cake in here?"

Matthew giggled softly into his palm, and Gilbert found he needed to look away for a moment, a smile worming its way onto his face despite himself. Dammit, what the fuck was wrong with him?

He looked back down to the box in his hands, whose plain exterior did not betray its contents. He picked it up, shook it, caressed it, sniffed it and even licked it, only to elicit another laugh from Matt, and the directions, "Open it."

So Gilbert did; inside was a box of maple cookies, a small bottle of 100% pure maple syrup, and a handkerchief printed with chicks (the baby chicken kind, not the sexy lady kind) to line the inside of the box.

"Matt?"

"W-Well," Matthew started, looking away from Gilbert's intense crimson stare as his cheeks somehow became even more pink, "I know you really liked to come over and eat some of my pancakes every Sunday morning, and that you were the only one who didn't tease me about using so much maple syrup because you practically drowned yours every week…

"So I figured you'd like to own some syrup of your own, and I wrote out my pancake recipe, too, so that you could make breakfast for yourself on Sundays, and so that…"

Gilbert licked his lips, "So that?"

"So that… you wouldn't forget me."

The albino sighed, shaking his head and wrapping his arm tightly around Matthew's neck, pulling the younger boy into a surprise headlock.

"You're silly if you thought I'd ever forget you and your orgasmic cooking. I have awesome memory, remember?"

Matthew smiled and nodded as best he could, "Yeah. N-Now, can you let me go?"

Gilbert obliged, and looked into the box once again, "And the cookies?"

"Taste good. I would have made you some myself but after Alfred ruined the oven during a science experiment I didn't exactly have the means to make them."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, "Your brother is fucking crazy."

"He is," Matthew agreed. "But I don't think I would trade him for anything, you know?"

There was silence for a moment, before Gilbert finally agreed,

"I know how you feel. Ludwig couldn't be any more unawesome if he tried, but still… I think I'm gonna miss him, you know?"

Matthew nodded fervently.

"Course, it's probably not the same, since you and Alfred are twins and all, but Ludwig's been my brother as long as I can remember. He used to follow me around and do everything I did, til he grew up a little and realized I was a bad kid."

Gilbert paused and gave a small laugh, thinking about the swaddling chubby toddler who'd used to follow him around until Gilbert went off to preschool and left him behind. It was strange to think that for the first time since Ludwig was born, the brothers would be apart. Certainly Gilbert had probably spent more time with Francis and Antonio, but Ludwig was that ever-present force that was always with him even when they weren't together.

"You'll miss him," Matthew whispered, and Gilbert nodded.

"I guess I will. I'll miss a lot of things about this dusty old town; the people, the fences I've built for community service, the graffiti I did in my artsy phase in junior high…"

They two shared a look, and Matt placed his hand cautiously on the other's shoulder, his voice shaking a bit as he murmured, "I'm going to miss you a lot. You made my life really interesting."

"You've got Alfred for a brother, so I'm sure things won't be getting boring anytime soon."

"That's true," Matt agreed. "But Alfred and you really don't have much in common. He's more of a childish menace, while you are a full out havoc wreaking demon."

"Ow, Matt, that hurts." Gilbert mimed having his heart broken, and the other laughed.

"It does not. If I know anything about you, it's that havoc wreaking demon is the greatest compliment you would ever want to receive."

"You really get me. I'm impressed."

Matthew nodded, smiling and twiddling his fingers in his lap, probably to ease his ever present nerves. In the past year they had spent a lot of time together, and as much as Matthew seemed to be relaxing around him Gilbert couldn't help but notice the small nervous ticks the younger blond had. It was somewhat endearing, in that it was subtle enough that it wasn't annoying, but not so unnoticeable so that it could be missed.

"Hey, Matt, can I ask you something?" Gilbert said suddenly, biting his lip. He'd remembered something that Francis had said to him two days ago, when he and Antonio had played that dirty trick on him to wake him up, something that had been bothering him since.

"Sure."

"What is your relationship with Francis, exactly?"

"H-Huh?"

"Two days ago he said something about you being _his_ Matthew, and even though he and Arthur were pretty much going at it like rabbits I wouldn't put it past Franny to take on a lover on the side or something."

"W-Wait, you think I was Francis' lover? A-As in… you think Francis and I… did… that?" Matthew yelped, his face so red Gilbert worried he was going to explode. Suddenly he felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach, figuring that if Matthew looked so embarrassed it must have meant he was right.

"Well, haven't you?"

"No! Of course not! Francis was just tutoring me in French, and he sort of took to me, yeah, but only as my big brother or something. That's what he wanted me to call him, anyways. We never did anything!"

"…Never?"

"No, never," Matthew insisted. "So much never that I'm still a virgin, anyways…"

"You are?" This was news; Gilbert had been of the believers that between him, Antonio, and Francis, there were no virgins left at their school.

Matthew shrugged, gaze focused intently on the concrete sidewalk. "It's not like anyone really wanted me, anyways. I mean, I've always had a few friends and stuff, but no one's ever been interested in me romantically…"

Gilbert sighed, and then he quirked his lips, ruffling Matthew's bangs. "I don't think that's true; the person's probably just too shy or something to tell ya, but I don't think it's possible for a cutie like you not to have gained some pretty lady's attentions. Or, you know, a hot guy's, if you're into that."

"You… You think so?"

"Definitely."

Gilbert's heart was thumping wildly now, and he had absolutely no clue why. He gripped his chest and squeezed tightly.

"'M glad you decided to save yourself," Gilbert said finally, as he stood up. "I know this sounds weird coming from me and all, but someone like you is better off doing it for love. It's… better that way."

"Gilbert…? Are you alright?" Matthew murmured, standing up after him.

"Me? I'm fine, Matt. Just starting to get overheated; albinos aren't supposed to spend too much time in the Sun, you know?"

"Do you need help getting home?"

Gilbert smirked, "Who am I, again?"

Matt quirked an eyebrow, "Gilbert?"

"Exactly. Gilbert the fucking awesome. Don't worry about me, okay?"

"Alright…"

Gilbert ruffled the other's hair again, "Thanks for the gift, Matt. It's really cool of you to give me something like this. I'll make pancakes every week; no, every day."

Matthew finally laughed, "Don't drown them in syrup, or you'll run out!"

"Pfft, I'll drown 'em anyways! And then I'll write you letters and ask for more!"

"Gilbert!"

The albino laughed, clutching his box to his chest and grinning.

"Bye, Matt. See you soon?"

And even though they both knew that Matthew was leaving tomorrow for Canada with his family, and that this was the last time they'd see each other until Gilbert came home for break, Matthew nodded.

"Really soon."

"Damn fucking straight." Gilbert laughed boldly, before giving a fond wave and sauntering off for home.

_To Be Continued_

* * *

A/N: I recently realized that it's been a really long time since I updated this. Guys, if I ever make you wait two weeks again, you're allowed to PM me and complain XD

On that thought, I'm going to start updating three times a week from now on. New chapters will come out every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday until the fic is done. There's only one chapter left in Part I, and then we move on to Part II!

Thank you all for reading, and I'm sorry about all the cheese in the first half xD

crimson-obsidian-rose


	7. Part I FINAL

Without further ado, the end of Part I-

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

**

* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand, Part I Final**

It was dead silent in the room, so much so that the only thing Antonio would hear was the sound of white noise buzzing in his ear. He was lying on the floor, Francis and Gilbert to his sides, laying in such a manner that he imagined from above they would look like a circle, or something. No one was saying a word, and judging from the way Gilbert's breathing sounded, he had fallen asleep.

"So," Antonio started softly, trying to break the silence; Gilbert made a sudden noise that affirmed in the brunet's mind he'd been sleeping. "Francis, have you heard anything from Arthur?"

It was touchy territory, and Antonio knew this, but he was hoping that the long lasting friendship slash brotherhood the trio had formed made it okay for him to inquire. Besides, the only way that Francis was going to get over Arthur's leaving was to get used to talking about him again and to become adjusted to the idea that they were going to have to deal with the distance.

"Yes," he murmured in response, his voice hollow and dry. "He made it to the school early this morning there, late last night here. He sent me an email. The man next to him on the flight snored loudly and chewed gum obnoxiously for the entirety of the ride."

Gilbert snorted, "Must've been hell for him."

"It was."

The trio fell silent again.

"Hey, Francis?"

"Gilbert?"

"What does it mean when your heart pounds really loudly when you're around someone?"

"What?" Francis sat up, and Antonio rolled over onto his stomach, both of them staring at Gilbert, who quirked an eyebrow.

"You heard…"

"Gilbert's in _love_? Oh, _dios mio_, that's excellent!"

"I am not in love!"

"Yes, you are," Francis agreed. "That is the answer to your question."

Gilbert paused for a moment and hummed, letting his eyes fall shut.

"Who is the lucky person?" Francis sing-songed, and Antonio was grateful to Gilbert for the distraction.

"No one! I'm not in love!"

Gilbert pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, causing Antonio and Francis to laugh.

"Hey," Antonio started brightly, "do you know what we should do today?"

"Hm?"

"We should go to the museum!"

"Why the fuck would I do that?" Gilbert scowled. "This is my summer vacation!"

Antonio shrugged, explaining, "I few days ago I saw Heracles, Sadiq, and Gupta, and they told me Ms. Hassan had something set up in the museum that we should all go see."

"What is it?"

"They didn't tell me. It's a surprise, apparently."

"What're our other options?" Gilbert grumbled.

"Well," Francis replied, "we go there or we stay here and watch my ceiling crack."

After another pause the trio shared a look, and almost in unison they all stood up and headed for the door.

* * *

There were a few other people in the museum when they got there, probably trying to escape the early July heat, and Antonio found that he recognized a few of them. Sitting in the children's section of the library were the kids that he'd had to read to two years ago for a community service project, the same year Gilbert had to fix fences and Francis was sent to work in a soup kitchen. It was sort of funny, Antonio realized, because reading to the little kids was the reason he wanted to grow up and work at a daycare center. And, when he thought about it, he realized that Gilbert was going into engineering and architecture, and Francis into cooking and pastry arts. Looking back on them, Antonio decided that those punishments weren't really punishments at all.

"That's him, girls! That's the little menace who was suggesting those filthy things as I walked by!"

Antonio was snapped out of his thoughts by the shrill voice of an old woman, and he followed the resident senior book club members' gazes to Gilbert, standing to his right.

"Gilbert?" Francis asked, and the other laughed nervously, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

"He was doing dirty things with his mouth, and I swear he did it to insult me!" The woman accused, and behind her the babble of book club members got louder.

"Dirty things with his mouth…?" Francis repeated, and he smirked in a way that Antonio recognized as his 'I'm devilishly sexy smile.'

"Was it something like this?" he continued, and he wrapped an arm around Gilbert's shoulder. Francis leaned in slowly, to the elderly ladies' collective horror, but Antonio was watching closely enough to see Francis flinch and hesitate. So, he did the only thing he could think to do.

He turned Gilbert around and kissed him passionately himself. From the corner of his eye, Antonio could see Francis exhale in relief.

The women shouted, then, and finally they drew the attention of the head librarian and museum curator, Amunet Hassan.

"What is going on here?" she asked in her warm, melodious, thickly and beautifully accented voice. Antonio heard himself and his friends all almost sigh, because they had discussed this before and had come to the consensus that she was definitely a MILF.

"These boys were being blasphemous and disrespectful! They should be thrown out!"

Antonio mused that the collection of old ladies nodding looked a lot like bobble head dolls going off, and had to resist the impulse to laugh.

"I apologize for their behavior," Ms. Hassan replied calmly, "but I believe that kicking them out would be counterproductive. After all, and I'm sure you agree, these boys could use a bit more culture in their lives."

"Well," the leader of the pack agreed in her gruff, manly voice, "that is true."

With a scowl, she gestured for her book club to move out, but not before giving Gilbert a dirty look. After all the women had gone, Ms. Hassan sighed.

"What were you thinking?"

"Uh, we weren't?" Gilbert offered with a grin, and she shook her head softly.

"Please try not to cause a scene. I rather prefer my library peaceful."

"We came here because Gupta told us that you had something special set up!"

Now the woman smiled, nodding and gesturing for them to follow her into the special exhibit room. It was a small room; the walls were painted a pristine shade of white and kept that way at all time, and there were a few light fixtures set up on sliding rails on the ceiling, so that they could be moved as they were needed to.

Currently the room was fuller than Antonio had ever seen it before, with all sorts of interesting things from clothing to paintings to textiles to pottery to sculptures, all neatly arranged around the room. Antonio spotted the usual trio of Heracles, Gupta, and Sadiq standing in front of a large painting on the other side of the room, squabbling.

"What is this…?" Francis murmured in awe, stepping into the room with bright eyes, excitedly taking everything in.

Ms. Hassan smiled, spreading her hands open and gesturing to the room, "My gift to you all. I could not help but notice how many distinct nationalities there were in your graduating class, and it occurred to me to honor those cultures by collecting at least one piece from each nation's history."

"Whoa," Gilbert murmured appreciatively, catching sight of a sword kept in a glass case and staring at it in awe. "This is German, right?"

"Swedish," she corrected, continuing, "I enlisted the help of Mr. Vargas and Ms. Karpusi to get this done, and we hope you all enjoy it. Gupta is in the back, if you have any questions."

With that, the woman slipped back into the main library area, and left the trio to explore.

"Oh man, this is fucking awesome," Gilbert murmured as he walked around, and Antonio almost expressed confusion; Gilbert wasn't exactly known for loving the arts or history (unless it was in Ms. Karpusi's class, as she was yet another MILF). Then he turned around, and when he saw Gilbert was still examining the Swedish sword, the words caught in his throat. Ah, that was it.

"Hey," the albino said suddenly, "has either of you guys found the awesome German shit yet?"

Francis looked up and beckoned him over, "There's something over here."

Antonio could have sworn he heard a laugh in Francis' tone, and when Gilbert scampered over to the corner where the blond was, he swore loudly, affirming his suspicion. It wasn't until he'd gotten over there that he found out why.

"What the fuck is this?" Gilbert was swearing, gesturing to a painting hanging on the wall with a small German flag underneath it acting as an identification card. The painting was of two women, a blonde with thick curls and a brunette with her hair braided up, sitting together and holding hands, their faces close enough that Antonio figured they were going to kiss soon.

"_Italia und Germania_," Francis read, and judging by the way Gilbert winced, he'd completely butchered the accent. Francis shot him a glare.

"Painted by Friedrich Overbeck in 1828, in Munich." Francis' smirked was much more pronounced, now. "That's in East Germany, isn't it?"

Gilbert pretended he didn't hear him, and stared intently at the painting, stroking his chin.

"I know she set this up for our graduation and all, but I get the feeling this ain't for me."

"Oh?"

Gilbert nodded, "Ludwig comes to every new exhibit once it opens; no doubt she's dropping hints."

Francis snorted, "More like anvils."

"Yeah, well, Ludwig needs all the help he can get. Sixteen years old and the kid still hasn't been laid."

There was a brief moment of silence during which Antonio pitied Ludwig; he didn't know what he was missing. With a soft chuckle, Antonio realized that Francis and Gilbert were probably thinking the same thing, and so he said, "I think it looks nice. They're both really pretty."

Gilbert furrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head a little. "Yeah… That Germania lady is sorta hot. I bet if she let her hair out and put on a dirndl, she'd be a sexy beer maid."

Francis snorted and shook his head, walking away from the painting and around the other displays. Antonio followed his lead, wandering until he came upon an old uniform, dressed up on a mannequin and kept safe in a glass display. It was a matador outfit, complete from hat to shoes, made of rich crimson and gold fabrics and embellishments.

"Wow…" Antonio murmured, looking up and down the costume. He didn't know very much about bullfighting, though his Abuela used to tell him stories about it when he was a little boy, and certainly he had never been so close to a real outfit. The material, he noticed, looked oddly stretchy, which is something he hadn't expected.

A moment later Gilbert approached him, grinning from ear to ear.

"You look happy."

"There's a copy of a painting that was done of Old Fritz here!"

"Really?" Antonio blinked, thinking in his mind that Ms. Hassan must've been a psychic or something, to know about Gilbert's obsession with the old Prussian King.

"Yeah! He was giving a flute concert or something, and it was so cool!" Gilbert paused, and then turned to look at the display he was now standing in front of.

"Whoa, this is pretty cool too."

"Isn't it?" Antonio grinned. Gilbert looked from the costume to Antonio and back, before giving a deep throated hum.

"You'd look sexy in this," he decided finally, and Antonio almost caught himself flushing.

"You think?" the brunet asked with a grin, and Gilbert nodded.

"Definitely," he replied with a feral smirk, "especially with that tight, round ass of yours."

Now Antonio was sure he was flushing, only to be saved when someone else chimed in, "Better not let Lovino hear ya."

"Hey, Sadiq."

Sadiq nodded, grinning, "Hey. Wha'd ya think? Isn't it cool?"

Antonio nodded, and even though Gilbert had rolled his eyes he could tell the other agreed.

"When Gupta's mom first told us her idea, I thought it was sorta lame," Sadiq confessed. "But she seemed so excited about it, and so did he…"

"Man," Gilbert snorted. "You're a pansy."

Sadiq scowled, "And you're not? Tell me, do all your attempts at flirting end with the other person almost dying, or is Matthew special?"

Antonio heard Gilbert growl, and wondered if this was the part where he was supposed to hold the other back. He decided against it, in time for Gilbert to snap, "Why you fuckin-!"

Now Antonio grabbed Gilbert by the arms, pulling him back as Sadiq smirked, "Aw, did I upset ya?"

"You're a bastard," Gilbert spat, "but you're not worth the effort. Lemme go, Toni."

Antonio heeded the request, in time for Heracles to happen upon them, already wearing an exasperated expression.

"What is going on?" he asked slowly, but there was nothing calm about his voice. "Sadiq?"

"Nothing," he replied simply. "I'm going. My dad wanted me home early."

And without any more pomp or circumstance, Sadiq strode out of the room. Heracles turned to Antonio with a frown, "What happened?"

"Uh… I'm not sure, exactly," Antonio confessed, "but I think Sadiq and Gil are just frustrated because they're too proud to fall in love."

"What?" Gilbert roared, crossing his arms over his chest violently. "Maybe that pansy is all touchy because sexy desert boy doesn't like him, but I wouldn't let something as stupid as love bother me." He frowned, turning away from Antonio and muttering something about going to look at the Russian artwork before walking away.

"Gilbert…?"

"Don't worry," Heracles murmured calmly, and his smile managed to relax Antonio. "Sadiq's a complete idiot, but he wouldn't lay a fist on anyone in here. He likes Gupta too much to do that."

Antonio wondered if maybe that was disdain he heard at the end of the other's last sentence. "Heracles, do you like Gupta?"

Heracles raised an eyebrow, as if confused, but then he responded, "I can see why you'd think so."

"You two are really close."

Heracles nodded, "Gupta's my best friend. Practically my brother…" He trailed off, before suddenly looking up intently with his sea foam green eyes, "I don't love him."

Antonio nodded, and then asked, because his curiosity got the best of him,

"Do you love anyone else, then?"

Heracles gave a devious little smile as answer, and Antonio returned it with a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Good luck, then."

"To you too. Lovino can be hard to deal with."

Antonio nodded, but still he was smiling, "He's worth it."

Heracles gave the other a thoughtful look, which melted away into a smile and an offered hand. "Do you want to go back and join them?" he asked, gesturing towards Francis, Gilbert, and Gupta.

"Sure."

When the two of them had gotten back over to where the others were, they found them standing in front of a great landscape painting, which depicted a large Church, with beautiful greenery, people, and animals in the foreground.

"Whoa," Antonio murmured, as his eyes took in the expanse of beautiful shading and neutral tones. "Where's this from?"

"England," Gupta murmured pointedly, gesturing with a subtle nod of the head to Francis. Francis, who was staring at the canvas, his hands clasping behind his back in the picture of calmness, but his body too tense and his spine too straight for any of them to believe he was okay.

"Francis…?" Antonio asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You alright?"

"I'm fine," the blond answered, in a tone that suggested he thought Antonio was crazy for asking. "Why?"

"Because, Franny," Gilbert cut in, "You've been standing here and staring at this boring canvas for the past ten minutes. You're not alright."

Under the two concerned stares from his best friends, Francis cracked, sighing, "It's nothing… it's just…"

He trailed off, before turning to Gupta and asking, "Did Arthur see this before he left?"

The other nodded, and elaborated, "He helped create it."

"What?"

Gupta shrugged, "We needed to identify all the nationalities, so my mother asked him for help. He became attached to the project, though, and stayed on to help."

Francis took a moment to process the information, before turning back to the canvas with a soft chuckle, "That is just like him…"

The rest of the even passed uneventfully; Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert poked around the rest of the exhibit, before bidding Heracles and Gupta goodbye. As they left, Francis and Antonio were sure to thank Ms. Hassan and Ms. Karpusi for the work they'd done, and the women had bid them good summers ("And good luck, in college, boys, don't spend all your time partying!" "Don't worry, we will," Gilbert had assured them).

The sun was setting when they had left, and the trio stood on the steps to the library, now, and Francis and Gilbert took the first step down. Antonio didn't move.

"I'm… leaving tomorrow," he started, breaking the silence with a heavy tone.

"We know."

"I guess," he continued ruefully, his voice shaking, "I guess this is goodbye…"

When Francis and Gilbert turned around, neither of them was surprised to see tears in his eyes. And his face, which was usually so bright and cheerful and full of life, was now dark as he tried to keep from breaking down.

Gilbert reached him first, pulling Antonio into his chest and pushing the other's head down against his shoulder.

"Heh, you pansy," he laughed softly, "Why're you crying, huh?"

Antonio coughed into Gilbert's shirt, shaking and unable to answer. Francis clicked his tongue, sliding his long fingers soothing through Antonio's thick curls.

"It is our last day together…" the blond supplied, and Antonio exhaled deeply.

Gilbert shook his head, "Last day? Come on, guys, none of us is going off to die. We'll be back together at Christmas Break, so quit being such girls."

"W-we've never been apart for six months before…" Antonio murmured, and Gilbert sighed.

"Come on, Toni… don't make it sound so hopeless!"

"He is right, Antonio. We are going to be fine."

Antonio pulled away, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, and laughed.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to. It just sort of came out."

Gilbert shrugged, "It's fine. Just… don't do it again."

Antonio nodded, sniffling and wiping his snot off on his forearm with a sad smile. He looked at the others, and they looked back at him, the trio falling silent again. It was heavy and thick and Antonio so desperately wanted to find the right thing to say.

Nothing came to mind.

"So," Francis murmured, "I am guessing you still have not packed."

"Oh. Yeah, I haven't started yet…"

Gilbert shrugged, "Then I guess it's time you got home, Toni. See you soon?"

Antonio beamed, and hoped that widening his smile he could keep the tears at bay,

"Yeah, you will."

* * *

Antonio, when he'd gotten home, had found his Abuela and cousin waiting for him, starting to go hungry. His Abuela had only smiled, insisting that they would not and could not eat without him on his last night at home.

That meal was probably the best one his Abuela had ever made, but he could hardly eat.

And then Antonio was in his room, a suitcase on his bed, laying open and empty, haunting him with its boring black interior.

He looked from the empty luggage to his closet, whose doors were wide open, to his bureau, with his boxer shorts poking out of it.

Then he reached for his nightstand and picked up his phone, hitting speed dial number 4 and pleading for the other to answer.

"Hello?"

"Lovino!"

"Fuck, Antonio, don't shout into the phone!"

"Sorry, Lovi," Antonio murmured into the phone, sitting down on his bed in the small spot not covered by any of this things or the suitcase. "I'm packing…"

There was silence from the other end of the line.

"Lovino…?"

"I'm here, bastard. Why did you call?"

"I… I wasn't sure what to pack." Antonio laughed, and the chuckle came out more forced than he had expected it would.

"Huh?"

"What should I pack, Lovi? Should I bring my red shirt?"

"Which one, idiot? Almost all your shirts are red!"

"Oh, good point. I guess I'll take all of those, then."

Antonio shifted the phone against his shoulder, reaching into the closet and pulling out a few hangers of red shirts, all his favorites. Before he could say anything else, he heard Lovino start again,

"W-Why did you call me for this…?"

"I need help, Lovino."

"That's stupid! You just… pack a few shirts and pants and lots of underwear! Oh, and some sweaters… for when it gets cold…"

Antonio snapped his fingers, not realizing Lovino could neither see nor hear the gesture, and turned back to his closet.

"I almost forgot that! See, Lovi, you are helping! Oh, wait, that's funny…"

"What?"

"My favorite sweater is gone. You know, the dark blue one? I can't find it."

Lovino coughed really hard on the other end of the line.

"Lovi, are you okay?"

"I'm fine! I just… maybe you're not looking hard enough! I'm sure your sweater is there, I mean, where else could it be, idiot?"

Antonio realized that Lovino had a point, and dug deeper in his closet.

"It's not here…" He said finally, and Lovino sighed.

"Sorry… I mean, uh, it'll turn up. Just take a different sweater for now."

Antonio nodded, and then realized how stupid he must have looked, "Alright. What else?"

"Underwear. Lots of underwear." Lovino insisted, and Antonio could almost imagine the other, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, cheeks flushed.

"Okay! Should I keep a pair here for you, in case you miss me?"

"What?" The flush in Antonio's mind's eye got even deeper, and he laughed.

"I'm only teasing!"

"That was… a stupid joke, you bastard!"

Antonio grinned, tossing all his pairs of boxers into the suitcase, before taking one of them back out, leaving it in his underwear drawer.

"Sorry, Lovino," he responded, walking over to his window and opening it up wide, looking out into the starry sky. "Where are you?"

"In my room…"

"Look out the window," Antonio instructed softly, smiling.

"Hm? W-Why?" Antonio heard the sound of the other's window being pulled open.

"Do you see all those stars?"

"Y-Yeah…"

Antonio sighed, "Whenever I miss you, I'll look at those stars and imagine you looking at them, too. Is that okay?"

Lovino made a soft, choked noise of surprise. "…It's fine…"

"And, you should do it too. When you miss me." Antonio suggested simply.

"… I… I won't miss you."

"Lovi…"

For a second, there was no answer, and then Lovino spoke again,

"H-Hey, Antonio…?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me… you won't find some hot girl or buff guy and fall in love with them. N-Not that I… care… but you're dating me and…"

Antonio broke off Lovino's nervous statement with a soft laugh.

"Silly Lovino. You really don't know, do you?"

"H-Huh?"

"I love you."

"I- I… I love you too, Antonio."

Antonio beamed, "Aw, Lovi, I bet your face is all red now just like a tomat-"

"SHUT UP!"

Antonio laughed, and blew a kiss into the phone. A few moments later, Lovino blew one back, and he knew he was forgiven.

"Hey, Antonio, the old man is calling for me. I have to go…"

"Oh…" Antonio stopped smiling. "Alright. Goodnight, Lovi."

"Wait."

"Hm?"

"C-Can I see you tomorrow, before you go?"

"I have to leave early…"

"Please? I'll wake up early!"

Antonio chuckled, "Aw… all right, Lovino. I'll come see you before I go."

"Good. You'd better, bastard…

"G-Goodnight…"

"Night, Lovi."

Antonio blew another kiss into the phone, but by then Lovino had already hung up.

* * *

Francis looked at the clock: 9:57 PM. Which would mean that that it was almost 3:00 AM on Arthur's side of the ocean, and therefore a very inappropriate time to make a phone call. Especially because it was very likely Arthur's internal clock was not properly adjusted, and so waking him up would be a horrible thing to do.

Francis almost felt guilty for entertaining the thought of constantly disrupting Arthur's sleep, so that the other would never be able to adjust to British time. As appealing as it sounded, that was far too selfish.

Still, Francis wanted to talk to him, to be able to say something. So, even though it was not the same, he stood and started up his computer, ready to send the other an email.

_Dear Arthur,_ he started once the internet had opened up,

_How have you been? Have you settled in yet? Are your roommates interesting people? Do you even have roommates? When do your classes begin, and what does your schedule look like?_

_Please forgive my barrage of questions; it has only been a few days, but it feels like I've been without you for a long time. Which is funny, because I rarely spent very much time with you even when you were here before this year. I never knew how much I would regret that._

_Life here is just the same as it was when you left. Everything is moving so slowly, and then there are sudden moments when it feels like everything picks up speed and zooms at us. We saw Ms. Hassan's exhibit today, and Gupta told me that you helped with it. I loved it,_ mon cher. _I could imagine you, pouring yourself into researching, thinking hard about each person and what they would have loved to see. I especially loved what you picked out for me; I have always adored the story in Renoir's paintings, and that young girl was adorable. And the few hours I spent in there felt slow and magical and _right.

_And then we walked out and Antonio reminded us that he is leaving tomorrow, and everything sped up again, unnaturally. Time is obscenely fickle; I wish she would pick a steady pace and move at it until my semester starts, and that for me, that pace would be quick._

_You are adorable. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I do not think that they have ever been more right. I hope you are doing well. I miss you._

_Love, Francis._

He hit send without proofreading the email, knowing that if he did he would end up changing whatever embarrassed him. Francis did not have to worry about that too much, though, because once he had sent it off an instant messaging window popped open.

**Senor Carriedo**: Hey, Francis.

Francis smiled, clicking in the box and typing,

**La Vie En Rose**: Hello

**Senor** **Carriedo**: How are you?

**La Vie En Rose**: Good. I just sent Arthur an email.

**Senor Carriedo**: Aw… You miss him, don't you?

**Senor Carriedo**: I think I know how you feel, a little. I already miss Lovi…

**La Vie En Rose**: At least you and Lovino will remain in the same time zone.

**Senor Carriedo**: …

**La Vie En Rose**: I apologize. That was not supposed to come out as caustic as it did.

**Senor Carriedo**: It's fine…

**La Vie En Rose**: Antonio, no. I'm sorry.

**Senor Carriedo**: *shrug* It's fine, Francis. It's not the same.

**La Vie En Rose**: Perhaps not, but you still have the right to be upset.

**Senor Carriedo**: ... A few days ago, Lovi told me he was going to apply to my school.

**Senor Carriedo**: And that makes me so happy, but… What if it's not right for him?

**Senor Carriedo**: Lovi wants to be an artist, and he would do better at an art school…

**La Vie En Rose**: Did you ask him to apply to your school?

**Senor Carriedo**: No…

**La Vie En Rose**: Then you have to respect his choice, Antonio. Perhaps you are not the only reason he is applying there.

**La Vie En Rose**: And if you are, you should take it in stride. He chose you for a reason.

**Senor Carriedo**: Thank you.

**La Vie En Rose**: Not a problem.

**La Vie En Rose**: Are you packed yet?

**Senor Carriedo**: Uh, almost ^^;

Francis chuckled, shaking his head. In the corner of his screen, a new window popped up.

**La Vie En Rose**: Oh, look, Gilbert is online. Shall we invite him?

**Senor Carriedo**: Sure!

**Awesome Prussian** has joined the chat

**Senor Carriedo**: Hey, Gilbert.

**Awesome Prussian**: Toni, Franny, wassup?

**La Vie En Rose**: We were lamenting about our long distant love lives. Speaking of which, who _is_ your special someone, Gilbert?

**Awesome Prussian**: no 1. i fly solo.

**Senor Carriedo**: That's not what it sounded like earlier~

**Awesome Prussian**: shut up

**La Vie En Rose**: Oh, me thinks the lady doth protest too much.

**Awesome Prussian**: whore u callin a lady?

**La Vie En Rose**: *winks*

**Awesome Prussian**: fff, well, ur wrong. love is 2 sisy 4 me

**Senor Carriedo**: Whatever you say~ *cough*Matthew*cough*

**Awesome Prussian**: :|

**La Vie En Rose**: *patpat* Still sailing down De Nile, Gilbert?

**Awesome Prussian**: i h8 u guys. I signed on 2 say bye 2 Toni, and u fuckers pissed me off.

**Awesome Prussian**: i'm leavin.

**Senor Carriedo**: Wait, Gilbert!

**Senor Carriedo**: …Goodnight.

**Awesome Prussian**: *sigh* night, Toni. g-luck in the real world.

**La Vie En Rose**: College is not the "real world"

**Awesome Prussian**: might as well be, the way people talk bout it. nighty night!

**Awesome Prussian** has logged off.

**Senor Carriedo**: Night, Gil…

**La Vie En** **Rose**: I think it is time you went to bed as well, Antonio.

**Senor Carriedo**: Yeah… is it silly that I don't want to?

**La Vie En Rose**: Not at all.

**La Vie En Rose**: Sadly, we must all do things we do not like.

**La Vie En Rose**: *kisses forehead*

**Senor Carriedo**: Yeah… Goodnight, Francis.

**La Vie En Rose**: Goodnight :)

**Senor Carriedo**: I love you…

**La Vie En Rose**: I love you too, querido ;)

**Senor Carriedo**: :)

**Senor Carriedo** has logged off.

**La Vie En Rose** has logged off.

Francis closed his internet browser and shut off his computer, before going through his nightly rituals quietly and tucking himself into bed. All the while, there was a smile on his face, a warmth in his heart, which never faded.

"Antonio, Gilbert…" he murmured, letting his eyes fall shut and feeling their bodies flank his sides as they had so many times in that very bed.

And that was when he knew, as far apart as they soon would be, they would never be alone.

_End?_

* * *

A/N: There is the end of the first part of Scarred Heart in Hand. Endless thanks go out to those of you who read and commented regularly; it means so much to me that you guys are enjoying this fic I worked so very hard on.

Part 2 takes place after a ten-year time skip, and I'll be sure to start posting that soon. Again, thank you all so, so much so reading, and especially to those of you who've left me feedback. You're all amazing!

crimson-obsidian-rose


	8. Part II Chapter I

Let's jumpy right into the next installment! Remember, this part takes place after a ten-year time skip. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

**

* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand, Part II Chapter I**

It was a quiet afternoon, the mid autumn crisp flowing in through the slightly opened window and filling the room with a gentle frost. Sunlight streamed in with it, filling the room with warmth and shadow; Feliciano wanted nothing more than to sprawl out on the couch under the window and take a nice, long nap.

He couldn't do that, however, because he was in the middle of a painting and he had to keep focused. Ludwig had reminded him on more than one occasion that whenever he took siestas after setting up his paints and canvas, the paints always dried and became unusable, and that was a waste of material.

So Feliciano closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, wiggling on his stool and opening his eyes once again. He was graced with the interior scene he had deliberately set up; the sofa with their kitten, Nudeln, sleeping on it, the sunlight pouring onto him, and the large windows behind it, blinds wide open to show Feliciano the bright red rainbow of leaves outside and the cool blue sky barely visible off in the distance. It was beautiful.

Then Feliciano turned to his canvas; thus far he had only started to get in the reds and oranges of the leaves outside in the center, the rest of the canvas around it still white as fresh snow. After eight years of art school and hundreds of canvases completed, Feliciano still found it exciting to see a composition in this incomplete state, a hint as to what the final product would look like, but still so much that was left to be seen.

The young Italian looked back out the window, picking up his brush and dabbing a rich yellow-orange shade onto the composition with quick presses of the brush, childishly enthralled with the new life that had brought to the image. If only he could preserve that all the way through, this could be his best still life yet.

Of course, that is what he said every time. But then, he did love every new canvas a little bit more than the ones he'd done before. Ludwig, though he was not an artist, decided that this must be a good thing, because as long as Feliciano always loved what he did he would always be inspired to do more of it. And, luckily, Feliciano really loved what he did; after all, he did have a Masters degree in Fine Arts that came with many years of sleepless nights and pasta-less days, which for him was no small feat.

There were, in fact, very few things that Feliciano loved more than art; his father and brother, for one and two, and all of his friends as well. It was why he had insisted that he and Ludwig not move away from the small town they had grown up in, so that they would always be where their friends could find them.

Most of all, though, he loved Ludwig.

It had taken them a long, long time to reach this stage in their relationship, far longer than Feliciano had liked. He had, after all, liked Ludwig since elementary school, and been in love with him since their freshman year in high school. Ludwig was such a cute boy, always trying so hard to stand out and be acknowledged for his hard work, but still able to let go every once in a while, especially at the coaxing of his friends, Feliciano, and Kiku Honda, who despite being a school year older than them, had spent a lot of time with them in high school.

It wasn't until their senior year, Feliciano remembered, that they had stopped being just friends. Ludwig had started acting differently around him, much more reserved and shy and distant; at first, Feliciano had been worried he was about to lose his best friend and biggest crush.

So, Feliciano had done the first thing he could think to do; he called his big brother to ask for advice. Lovino cursed colorfully at the idea of Feliciano having feelings for Ludwig, and told his brother to give up because "there's no way that anal bastard would ever make a good boyfriend to you, Feli," and Feliciano was about to cry. But then Antonio took the phone and told him that Lovino was just in a bad mood and mentioned that Ludwig had been in love with him for years and years, or at least that's what Gilbert had told him.

Feliciano, significantly more cheerful, had pulled Ludwig aside a month before graduation and laid his head on the other's chest.

"I love you," he'd murmured, and then underneath his ear he heard Ludwig's heart skip a beat. "And I think you love me too."

Then he had looked up, and seen how wide Ludwig's beautiful blue eyes had become, like a deer caught in headlights (that was the saying, right?), and added,

"Do you love me?"

Feliciano sighed, remembering the choked, tense way Ludwig had mumbled "Yes," and how he hadn't wasted a moment wrapping his arm around the other's neck and kissing him senseless, even though Ludwig was so shocked he couldn't move.

Feliciano giggled, then, and the stool he was sitting on teetered. He shook his head and caught himself before he could fall, but in the process he knocked his water cup over. Orange water spilled all over the floor, and not for the first time Feliciano remembered why Ludwig had insisted on hardwood floors, not carpeting.

Slowly the brunet padded into the kitchen grabbing the roll of paper towels and ripping a few off, tiptoeing back into the living room and getting on his hands and knees to mop up the water.

It was to this scene, of his boyfriend slash domestic partner on the floor, his ass wiggling in the air as he stretched his arms out to wipe the floor, that Ludwig came home.

"Er… Feliciano?"

"Ah, Ludwig! You're home!" The other jumped up, and Ludwig saw the wet spots on each of his knees. Feliciano, apparently didn't care, because he scurried over to the door and hugged the other tightly. "How was your day?"

"Good," Ludwig answered curtly, "What happened here?"

"Oh, I got distracted while I was painting, and the cup fell over. But I didn't fall this time!" Feliciano answered proudly, and Ludwig shook his head, patting the other's head despite himself.

"Congratulations… ah, how about I clean this up? Ludwig offered, noticing how much water was still on the floor, and how little of it was on the long train of paper towels. Speaking of which…

"You only need one paper towel for this, Feliciano. And put it on the spot and let it soak up the water, don't use it to push the water around." Ludwig explained, doing just that as he spoke. Feliciano smiled at him sheepishly.

"Sorry, I forgot. I was too busy thinking about you!"

"W-What?"

"I was remembering the day I became your boyfriend! You were so cute because you were so shaky and nervous and all red and-"

Ludwig sighed, walking up to the other and using his thumb to brush some paint off of Feliciano's face, wondering if the other was intentionally messy whenever he set out to work, and also wondering when he had gotten so close to the other that Feliciano's compliments that often turned into rambles no longer affected him.

Like magic, the feel of Ludwig's thumb against his face, even gloved, quieted Feliciano instantly. The blond smiled, however subtly, and gestured to the pile of mail he had placed on the side table when he first walked in.

"There a few letters for you today," he said, pulling away and heading for the kitchen, going for his usual after work drink, a cold beer. Feliciano nodded, scampering excitedly to the table and picking up the pile before padding into the kitchen after Ludwig, sitting in one of the chairs at the small table in the corner.

"Oh, look, it's the new issue of Pasta Lover's magazine!" he squealed. "Ludwig, can we have pasta for dinner today-"

"I'd rather not," Ludwig responded flatly, placing his beer on the table and sitting in the chair across from Feliciano's. "We've had pasta everyday this week."

Feliciano pouted, holding out the magazine in Ludwig's face to show him one of the spreads, "But there's a recipe for cheesy orzo! You like cheese!"

"Feliciano…"

"What if I put wurst in it?" Feliciano offered, waggling his eyebrows. "Can I make it then?"

"But you don't like wurst." Ludwig countered, giving the other a quizzical look. This offer was becoming tempting…

"That fine," Feliciano replied, "I don't mind it sometimes, since you love it so much!"

Ludwig remained silent for a moment, not wanting to cave in. He'd already eaten enough pasta to last him a lifetime, and Feliciano wasn't going to get him to change his mind…

"I'll let Aster sleep on the bed, even though it's Nudeln's turn!"

"…Fine," Ludwig sighed heavily; curse Feliciano for knowing his weaknesses so well.

The brunet cheered, leaving the magazine open to the page with the recipe and flipping through the rest of the mail.

"Oh, here's a bill, this is for you," Feliciano said, sliding the letter over, and then he cheered up, "Look, it's the check from the person that commissioned me!"

Ludwig nodded, thumbing the closed bill he'd been passed; they could use the money from that pay check to pay their bills, and the rest would go into their savings account. Ludwig had to make sure Feliciano wasn't the one to cash it, because he had a bad habit of making impulsive purchases that they didn't really need. He took another calm sip of his beer.

"Oh, oh, Ludwig, look!"

Just as suddenly as Feliciano had said it, a letter was being waved millimeters away from Ludwig's face; he immediately pulled his head back to avoid a paper cut, before snatching the letter away.

The letterhead indicated it was from their high school.

"A reunion?"

"Yes!" Feliciano squealed, snatching the letter back, "A ten year reunion! Can you believe it, Ludwig, it's been ten years since we graduated!"

"We only graduated eight years ago, Feliciano."

"Oh, but we're invited too, right?"

Ludwig took the letter back and skimmed over it, "Yes. Probably because the class sizes were so small, they've invited everyone who graduated between eight and twelve years ago."

Feliciano was beaming, "We get to see everyone again! Oh, I wonder how they're all doing!"

Ludwig shrugged, standing and marking the date off on the calendar.

"I guess we'll find out soon," he said simply. He grabbed a pen from nearby, marking off the RSVP and placing it in the included envelope.

"We _will_," Feliciano agreed. "And we'll get to see Lovi and Antonio and oh, do you think they'll bring Bella with them?"

Ludwig shrugged. They probably would, considering they never went anywhere without her, but he did not really think it mattered much.

"Oh, and we'll get to see your brother, too! And Francis! And Kiku and Arthur and Alfred and Matthew and…"

Feliciano continued to list the names of everyone he had every befriended in high school, which, because he was Feliciano, was pretty much everyone in their school, while Ludwig tried to recover from that thought.

He was going to see his brother again. He and Gilbert were not on bad terms, but that was because ever since Gilbert had left home, they had not been on any terms at all. He had heard, through Feliciano who heard from Lovino who heard from Antonio, that Gilbert was quite successful at engineering (and that his designs were rather over the top, as expected). He had not meant to lose touch with Gilbert, but their lives had carried them apart and neither of them was the sentimental type who would make the effort to keep in touch.

In fact, now that he thought about it, Ludwig realized he hadn't seen Gilbert since Lovino and Antonio's wedding, four years ago. And now he was going to see him again…

He wondered, as he took another swig of beer, how this reunion was going to work out.

* * *

"Antonio! Antonio, where the fu- Where is the baby bag?"

From the kitchen where Antonio was preparing a few baby bottles, the Spanish man could hear his husband's roar as clearly as he would have if he'd been upstairs in the same room as him. He finished screwing the nipple of a third bottle onto the top, musing on how endearing it was that Lovino was trying so hard to wean himself off of cursing, especially when he knew the baby could hear.

And then Antonio realized that the baby could hear them screaming and prayed it wouldn't wake her up.

"I have it, Lovino!" he called up, much more softly. There were no sounds of crying, which was a good sign. But, Lovino was stomping down the stairs, which was a bad sign.

"Here," he snapped, dropping a few clean diapers down on the dining room table beside it. "Be sure to pack these too."

Antonio stepped out of the kitchen, taking in the sight of Lovino; his shirt was hanging open and still wrinkled, his hair was a mess, he was only wearing one sock and had no pants on, and there were was a little bit of stubble on his chin. He moved in close to his husband, wrapping an arm around his waist and nuzzling the other's rough chin with his nose.

"Is this a new look for you, _querido_? It's sort of sexy."

Lovino grumbled, but yielded to Antonio's touch nonetheless, relaxing into his chest.

"You're so oblivious," he murmured. "I didn't get any sleep at all last night."

"Oh, Lovi… But you said you would come in once you finished your illustration."

"I did," Lovino affirmed, "But once I got into bed Bella started crying. I think she had a stomachache."

"Poor Bella," Antonio cooed, "Is that why she's sleeping now?"

"Probably," Lovino agreed, yawning. "How long 'til we have to go?"

Antonio looked up to the clock on the microwave, "Uh, well it starts in 2 hours, and it will take about an hour to get there."

Lovino nodded and pulled away from the other. "I'm going to shave. And iron. You get Bella ready, okay?"

"Sure thing, Lovi." Antonio grinned, smacking the other's ass as he turned away and relishing in Lovino's yelp.

"Don't do that when the baby's around," Lovino growled, "I'd hate for you to contaminate her with your perverseness."

Antonio giggled, and Lovino turned back to head up the stairs, leaving him to tend to the big pink baby bag on the dining room table. Diapers, check, bottles, check, extra formula and a thermos of warm water, check, baby wipes… not enough. He also needed that he had to remember to pack a spare change of clothes, just in case.

Grabbing the bag and hoisting it over his shoulder, Antonio started back up the stairs, tiptoeing into the nursery. Lovino had put a lot of effort into designing Bella's room, picking a pale yellow color for the walls (they hadn't know what the gender of the baby they were going to adopt was), and complimenting it later with light pink curtains. The walls were decorated with framed drawings of friendly, cartoony baby animals, a series Antonio had watched his husband work months to perfect.

Antonio had contributed to the room a set of books, placed in a small white bookshelf that matched the crib in the center of the room. They were the picture books that he loved to read to his kids the most, the ones that his kids had loved to hear the most, and already Bella seemed to love them, a few of them quickly becoming her favorites.

He stepped into the room quietly, and walked over to her crib to check on her; a smile spread on his face when he saw her, tiny lips parted as she breathed, curled up on her belly with her hands balled up into itty bitty little fists. He brushed a finger gently over her cheek, and as excepted one of her fists moved to grip the finger tightly.

Antonio chuckled, pulling his finger away and replacing it quickly with Bella's stuffed giraffe, a gift from Uncles Feli and Ludwig that had become her favorite toy. She gurgled and curled more tightly into the toy.

Antonio hated that he was going to have to wake her in a bit, to clean her and dress her up. But, after all, today was a big day; she was going to get to see her whole family.

Padding over the chest of drawers and packing a new box of wipes, another dress, and a clean white onesie, Antonio smiled softly to himself; today was the day that, for the first time since his wedding, he was going to get to see Francis again, which meant that it was going to be the blond's first time meeting his beautiful baby girl. And, if their email correspondence was anything to go by, Francis seemed to be excited for it as well.

There was a creak by the door, and Antonio turned around to find Lovino standing in the doorway, whisker-free.

"Do you need any help?"

"No, Lovi, I've got it."

"Alright. Don't forget to get Bella dressed… and to get yourself dressed, too."

Antonio frowned, looking down at himself. Black slacks, and indigo dress shirt, like he thought.

"I am dressed…?"

Lovino scoffed, "Your shirt is dirty, idiot. I can see the stains from over here, go put something else on. Like that green shirt…"

Lovino's favorite of his shirts, Antonio remembered with a grin. "Oh? Are you sure, Lovi?" he teased.

The other flushed, "Yes, I'm sure. That's the only shirt that makes you look even halfway decent."

"Heh, I'm sure I look more than decent in it." Antonio sing-songed, and Lovino flushed harder, muttering "idiot" under his breath as he walked away.

Antonio, still smiling, walked over to the crib once again and lifted Bella out gently. Immediately she clung to his shirt, making soft noises of discontent in her sleep. Antonio felt guilty for having to wake her up, she was just too cute!

Still, he had to do what he had to do; Antonio carried her over to her changing table and laid her down, murmuring in her ear in a soft whisper, "Bella. Bella, baby, it's time to wake up."

She roused softly, making soft noises as she awoke and grabbing onto Antonio's nose with her fist.

"Ow!" he yelped softly, and she giggled, wiggling happily on her changing table and pulling herself up to sit and stare at him.

"Papa!" she squealed, letting him go and holding her hands out, asking to be carried. Antonio laughed, pressing a finger against her hand gently.

"Not yet, Bella. We need to change you first, so you can be pretty and clean for when we go see everyone."

She blinked her wide hazel eyes, squirming unhappily and sticking her arms up higher, making a soft pleading noise.

"Papa!"

Antonio shook his head and eased her back down, undoing her little footie pajamas, "Relax, baby, I'll carry you. But first we need to clean your dirty diaper." He made a face, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head, pantomiming someone who had smelled something stinky, and Bella laughed.

That made it easier for Antonio to get her diaper changed, tossing out the old one and changing her into a clean pink onesie with "Daddy's Little Princess" embroidered on the front. He chuckled, leaning in and gently blowing a raspberry on her tummy, causing her to erupt in a fit of giggles that filled the room.

And, apparently, attracted Lovino's attention; he was back in the nursery, still pantless, but with both socks on and his shirt ironed and buttoned.

"Don't do that, Antonio, that's probably why she gets stomachaches!"

"Don't worry, Lovi," Antonio reassured, "She likes it!"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you should do it!"

Antonio pouted, "You worry too much, Lovi." He reached out to pat Lovino's head, but Lovino slapped his hand away.

"She's my daughter, I'm supposed to worry!"

"She's our daughter, Lovi," Antonio corrected, and they both fell silent for a moment. Bella, obviously unhappy with the tension she sensed, screeched "Papa!" and held her hands out once again. Lovino gently lifted her up, and she clung to him tightly.

"Lofi Papa!" She cooed, snuggling into his neck. A soft smile graced Lovino's lips and he comforting circles into her back.

"That's right, Bella, it's me. Do you want me to help you into your dress? You know that Toni Papa is useless, right?"

Bella giggled at Lovino's high pitched voice, and Antonio pouted deeply. "Lovi, don't teach her things like that!"

Lovino smirked, quirking an eyebrow and leaning in to peck Antonio on the lips. Bella watched the gesture in awe, and when Antonio grinned happily she squealed again.

"Papa!" she smacked herself on the lips with her palm, and Lovino chuckled, giving her a soft kiss as well.

"Go get dressed, Antonio, I can take it from here."

"Are you sure?"

Lovino did not have to answer; just the way he was looking at the baby in his arms was enough for Antonio to know he would not rather be anywhere else.

"I'm sure," he nodded, and Antonio left the room, standing in the doorway silently and watching as Lovino cooed at Bella, placing the dress in her hands and teaching her the color ("This is green, Bella, can you say green?" "Gre?"), letting her run her fingers over the fabric like any curious child would want to, and then asking softly, "Do you want to wear this dress, Bella?"

Bella seemed content with the dress, and so Lovino undid the zipper and starting to ease her into it. She squirmed a bit, and Lovino chided her with the same gentle tone he'd used to relax her, as he fit her chubby arms into the sleeves. Once the dress was zipped up, she started to pat its smooth, silky skirt happily.

"Now, should we brush Bella's messy bed head?"

Antonio slipped away then, not wanting to be caught by his husband, but the warmth that filled his chest then did not leave him as he went off to get ready.

_

* * *

To Be Continued_

A/N: I am back, and here is the start of part 2! I opted to start it off with these two couples, but everyone will appear in time. Ludwig and Feliciano are domestic-partners, and Antonio and Lovino are a married couple with a 12 month old daughter, Marina Isabella Vargas-Carriedo.

I hope you all enjoyed this! Please tell me what you think.

crimson-obsidian-rose


	9. Part II Chapter II

Warning: Gilbert may or may not seem OOC in this chapter to you, and I apologize if he does.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

**

* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand, Part II Chapter II**

Once Gilbert had gotten out of his car, after parking it in the teacher's parking lot, the first thing he did was take in a deep breath. The air still smelled the same, like burnt pizza and mystery meat and stale bread, and suddenly he was taken back to his youth. Specifically, to the day when he had convinced Francis and Antonio to sneak into the kitchens with him and slip fake plastic spiders into the sloppy joe.

He chuckled at the memory, locking his car and taking a deep breath before walking up to the school's entrance. It was going to be the first time he had seen most of these people since Antonio and Lovino's wedding, some of them even longer than that. And while he knew that he was still as awesome as ever and had absolutely nothing to worry about, he wanted to brace himself before finding out how much everyone else had changed.

Gilbert strode up to the front door; sitting at the desk in the entrance was the same principal's secretary that he'd gotten to know very well during his four years in that school.

"Hey, Mrs. Parker, it's been a while," he greeted with a smirk, and she seemed delightfully surprised.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt, is that you? Oh my, you look so handsome."

He grinned. "You don't look so bad yourself. What've you been up to?"

"Oh," she giggled, "you know, this and that. And what about you, are you still wreaking havoc?"

"You bet," Gilbert answered, and she laughed again.

"Glad to hear nothing's changed. You can go right into the gym, and have fun, alright?"

"Will do," he decided, nodding and strutting down the familiar hallway, his feet leading him to the entrance of the gym.

"Go time," he murmured, and then he strode in with all the pride he could muster.

* * *

Looking around, Gilbert found that, for the most part, everyone that he remembered should have been there was. His brother was spotted standing by the bleachers, Feliciano at his side as expected, as the sweet brunet was busy doting upon his niece. Well, at least he'd found Antonio too, then.

In another corner was the small group of Asian siblings and cousins, talking animatedly amongst themselves. In the center of the gym, which for the evening was a makeshift dance floor, Matthias was trying to revive the dances of their high school days to no avail; off to the side, Gilbert could see Eirik shaking his head in embarrassment, and Ari, Berwald, and Tino all acting as if their Danish friend did not exist. The former was sipping a drink, and the latter two, Gilbert noted, were wearing wedding bands and holding hands. Gilbert grinned, making a note to go congratulate them later on.

"Excuse us-… Gilbert…?"

That voice. Even before he turned around to see whose way he was blocking, he knew exactly who to expect; it took him a split second to brace himself before he turned around.

Roderich and Elizaveta. He had received an invitation to their wedding six or seven years ago, and after leaving it out on his table to be dealt with at a later time, he decided to stop letting it torment him by burning it and flushing the blackened remains down the toilet. Which, in retrospect, was a stupid thing to do, because there was a permanent black spot in his toilet bowl…

"Gilbert?" Elizaveta murmured, and the albino was snapped out of his thoughts. He laughed sheepishly,

"Oh, hey."

Roderich raised his eyebrows, "Well, you obviously haven't changed at all. Would you be so kind as to move out of our way?"

That was all it took for Gilbert to recover, sneering, "You haven't changed either, priss."

"Yes, well, as much as I would love to stand here and argue this with you for old times' sake, I'd like to get Elizaveta inside so please _move_."

"Roderich," Elizaveta cut in, "I'm not an invalid. Don't worry so much."

"Invalid…?"

And that is when Gilbert noticed that Elizaveta had put on weight.

In Gilbert's moment of shock, Roderich gently pushed him aside, and with a tight grip on his wife's arm he led Elizaveta inside. She turned around, and when she caught Gilbert's eyes she rolled her own with a laugh.

'_Elizaveta is… pregnant?_'

Gilbert finally went inside. Bypassing the groups of people with whom he had not associated much, he sent straight to the back of the gymnasium, where Roderich was easing an amused Elizaveta down onto the bleachers, only to have Feliciano start doting on her. But all the while his mind was buzzing,

'_How do you start conversation with someone you haven't spoken to you in years? And how do you do it if that someone is your brother?_'

"Gilbert!" Antonio called out, and suddenly he was engulfed in the tightest hug of his life, senses overloaded with the smell and feel of Antonio in his arms.

But even as familiar as those sensations were, they were not exactly the same; now covering the other's natural musk that reminded Gilbert of earth and spices, Antonio smelled like formula and baby powder, and the arms that were holding him now were more toned than they had been, presumably from all the carrying and playing and nurturing he was now doing.

Gilbert hugged him back, not letting go until Antonio pulled back and ruffled his hair, smiling at same bright beam.

"It's been too long," he said simply, and Gilbert found that all he could do was nod. It took him a moment to find his voice to agree,

"Yeah. So, uh, how've ya been?"

"Amazing! Bella started talking a month ago, she calls me Papa and it's so cute!"

Gilbert laughed; he should have expected that Antonio would talk about his daughter. Speaking of which, "Where is she?"

"Lovino's got her. She fell asleep on the way here and still hasn't woken up."

"And things with you and Lovi, they're going alright?"

Antonio's smile mellowed, but Gilbert thought he saw it become even warmer, if that was even possible.

"They're perfect," he replied softly, looking back to his husband, who was trying to convince Feliciano to lower his voice as he squealed over Elizaveta's pregnancy stories. Elizaveta…

Gilbert shook the thought away and grinned, punching Antonio lightly on the arm, "You're still a pansy, huh?" His grinned softened, "Good. It works for you."

"I missed you, Gilbert."

Gilbert's lips quirked upwards, "Yeah. Yeah, who wouldn't miss me?"

"Come on," Antonio started, after he chuckled at the other's vanity, "Knowing you you'll waste the whole night away standing way over here and not speak to anyone."

"Hey, we're only two feet away from them." Gilbert pouted, and Antonio rolled his eyes.

"Which are two feet too far," Antonio insisted, tugging on the other's arm. Gilbert allowed himself to be pulled into a walk, but took his arm back as they approached the group.

For a moment, there was silence; Gilbert was looking at Ludwig, and it was only because he knew his brother so well that he knew Ludwig was trying to look anywhere but at him and failing miserably, making perfect eye contact with him. Everyone else was silent, Gilbert figured, because they were waiting for them to say something.

When the silence started to become painful, Feliciano cut in. "Gilbert! How are you?"

Gilbert was relieved, to say the least, though he refused to let it show, "I'm fine. How's my awesome little brother in law?"

Feliciano giggled, "Ludwig and I aren't married…"

The brunet surprised them all by looking to Ludwig and giving him a very pointed look, to which Ludwig flushed and cleared his throat. Gilbert laughed, wondering how often they'd had this fight before.

"Not officially, but you're as good as," Gilbert countered. Lovino huffed, and Elizaveta giggled.

Feliciano smiled, "We're doing well. And you?"

"Awesome."

"Of course," Roderich commented dryly; Gilbert glared.

"Now, boys, behave," Elizaveta chided teasingly, standing up from the bleachers and wagging her finger at each of them.

"Elizaveta, dear, are you sure you should be standing…?"

She gave him a look that flitted between amusement and annoyance, stretching a bit and patting her stomach.

"Roderich, I'm fine. I'm pregnant, not dying."

"Pregnant," Gilbert repeated softly, catching himself only after the word escaped from his mouth. He managed to check the ability to clap his hand over his mouth, but it was too late; everyone was already giving him odd looks.

Everyone except for Elizaveta, whose look was full of understanding; Gilbert wasn't sure if he should be more unsettled by her stare than by those of the other men.

"Gilbert, I think we need to talk."

"Elizaveta…?"

"Sh, Roderich, it's fine. Gilbert and I just have something we need to discuss."

"But-"

Without letting Roderich continue, Elizaveta looped her arm with Gilbert's and gave her husband a smile; Gilbert, who normally would have been gloating, was too disorientated by the realization that he was about to be pulled into a conversation he did not want to have. And yet, he could not resist; he could never resist Elizaveta.

She had ended up pulling him back out into the frosty night's air, a puff of warm breath coming out of her mouth when she spoke softly, "Gilbert."

Wordlessly, he removed his jacket and swung it over her shoulders.

Elizaveta sighed, slipping into the sleeves and muttering, "You and Roderich are exactly the same, aren't you?"

Gilbert snorted, "As if. He and I are nothing alike." His voice was hard and caustic, which was totally not awesome, but he couldn't help it.

"Gilbert," Elizaveta snapped, "I am five months pregnant and God help me, I'm going to do my best not to smack you in the face so can you please be cooperative?"

"I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Insulting Roderich and ignoring your brother aren't exactly the right things to do, either."

Gilbert frowned, sighing heavily, "It's not like I meant to ignore him, it's just… I don't know, okay? I don't know what to do. He probably hates me, or something."

"Oh, please, Ludwig could never hate you."

"He has no reason to like me, considering I've all but ignored him for years!"

She huffed, shaking her head and taking a step closer to him, "And that is no one's fault but your own. So now it's up to you to rebuild the connections that you let fall apart." Elizaveta paused.

"If you think we're worth it, that is."

"Of course I do, Liz!"

She shrugged, and in the darkness Gilbert could make out a frown on her face.

"You know," Elizaveta started quietly, "I still haven't forgiven you for not coming to my wedding."

"…I'm sorry."

"No, Gilbert, I know you're not. I know-"

"No, Elizaveta, you don't know anything! You have no idea how much I regret it, not being there for you when he took your hand in marriage. You've got no idea how bad I feel for missing that…!"

Now he could feel Elizaveta's warm fingertips brush lightly along his tight jaw, the slight bump in her stomach pressing into his own gently.

"What has gotten into you? Is all this just because I'm pregnant?"

"That was supposed to be my baby," he muttered, taking a step back and trying to find her eyes in the darkness. "I was prepared to give everything up for you, and he was the one who'd left you behind."

She sighed, tucking one of her long russet locks behind her ear.

"It's funny how things change, isn't it? Because right now, you're the one who has left us all behind."

"Tch, it's not like you missed me."

"How can you say that!"

"Easily. One of the things that I learned, Liz, is that an argument is never just one party's fault, and neither is a falling out."

"You know what? You're still as selfish as you've ever been, Gilbert Beilschmidt- no, you're even more selfish than you were before! I did need you; I needed you when my application to work for Home and Garden magazine was rejected, to remind me that I took the best fucking flower shots no matter what some stuffy old man in a big chair said. I needed you there when Roderich proposed, to that someone could share my joy, and when I was going to be married, so that you could walk me down the aisle and be my Sir of Honor. I needed you when I found out I was pregnant, because you were the only person in the world I could have trusted to keep me level headed and to reassure me that I'm going to be a kickass mom."

Before Gilbert could even begin to formulate a response, he heard a sniffle, and then a muffled sob. Unconsciously he wove his arms around Elizaveta's waist, pulling her into his chest and letting her cry, without shushing her or coaxing her to stop, because something told him that she needed this.

The same something told him that he needed this, too.

Elizaveta did not take long to regain control of her emotions, sniffling and looking up at Gilbert, even with her head still nestled against his chest.

"I remember the last time you held me like this," she murmured softly. "It was sophomore year, and Roderich and I had just broken up because he felt like he needed some time and some space of his own. I agreed because I knew that was the right thing to do, even though it wasn't what I wanted to do, and when you found me crying you comforted me and told me he was a waste of my time, anyways.

"And then you made a point of spending time with me, to ensure that I was okay. But I could tell that you liked me, and I started to wonder if maybe I could like you back, because it would be easy and it would be fun and school was being ungodly stressful. And that's why I let you have sex with me… let myself have sex with you…"

"You missed a period." Gilbert continued where she trailed off, hugging her tightly, "And you flipped a shit because you thought you were pregnant…"

"Mhmm," she agreed. "I was so convinced that I was, too. No condom, too much stress from school and depression from the break up, I hadn't been eating well at all; it was not a good combination. And when five and six weeks passed and nothing came, I thought my life was over."

Elizaveta hugged Gilbert more tightly, "But it wasn't over. Because after I found the courage to tell you, you didn't act at all as I thought you would. You were prepared to drop out of school and find a job to start supporting us."

"Yeah. What else could I have done?"

"I don't know. I was expecting you to abandon me…"

Gilbert scoffed, "I guess you didn't know me well at all, then."

"I didn't. But I learned, and I realized that past all your fronts and masks you really are just a big softie."

Gilbert snorted, and Elizaveta giggled, pulling away from his hug and finding his crimson eyes with her olive ones, giving him an intense look, visible even in the darkness of the fallen night.

"But you're not that Gilbert anymore. Because that Gilbert would have been there at my wedding, helping to adjust the train of my dress and worrying me needlessly about potential sabotages, and that Gilbert would have given Ludwig a good hair mussing once he entered the gymnasium."

He licked his lips, completely at a loss for words. Then:

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy."

Gilbert chuckled softly, "He's lucky to get to have a mom like you."

"I hope so. But I think he's even more lucky to have a father like Roderich… and, a godfather like you."

When Gilbert looked back up, awestruck, Elizaveta had moved into the light beside the school's entrance, and she was smiling at him warmly.

"Surprised?" she giggled.

"Yeah… but I can understand why. With a father like Roddie, he'll need an awesome guy like me to teach him all the cool stuff." Gilbert waggled his eyebrows, and Elizaveta laughed again, grabbing his hand gently.

"Exactly. Now, care to share more of your awesomeness with those less fortunate?"

"Alright," Gilbert consented, and he allowed Elizaveta to lead him back inside the warm gym.

The first thing he did was grip Elizaveta's hand tighter and give Roderich a devilish smirk.

Then he leaned in and ruffled Ludwig's gelled back hair.

"Hey-"

Ludwig started to protest, but the syllable died on his tongue and he froze. Gilbert waited a moment for the other to collect himself, and when Ludwig muttered, "It's been a long time, Bruder," Gilbert did not even try to keep the grin off his face.

_To be continued_

* * *

A/N: Looking back, I think this is the weirdest chapter in this entire fic. Probably relates to the fact that, when I was writing this, more than half of November was finished and NaNo was starting to become a struggle. Some of the choices I made are admittedly very strange, but I hope you don't mind them too much. I promise the rest of this part is just as insane ;)

But yes, the reunions have started, and it only gets more awkward from here :D Thank you all for reading!

crimson-obsidian-rose


	10. Part II Chapter III

Warning: This chapter is fluffier than fairy floss. Proceed with caution :)

Disclaimer: Still don't own Hetalia.

**

* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand Part II Chapter III**

The night progressed, not too slowly, and not too quickly, either. Elizaveta was pleased that, especially after that rough start, everyone had lapsed back into their old relationships like there hadn't been years of change keeping them apart. She was especially satisfied that she had been able to get through to Gilbert; as expected, he wore his good mood on his sleeve and it was contagious.

She sighed, nestling subtly closer into Roderich's shoulder; he had convinced her to sit down once again, if only by annoying her to the point where it was either she sit and keep her composure, or lash out and then blame it on the hormones. She had, however, agreed to sit only on the condition that he sat with her, deriving sick pleasure for his obvious discomfort at now being shorter than the people he was talking to.

The lesson here, she decided, was to never get on a pregnant woman's bad side.

The conversation had been going smoothly; the other men in the group had started talking about their jobs and work life, which was actually a lot more interesting than she had expected it would be; Gilbert was an engineer, and went to great trouble to give very vivid descriptions of the best of his designs, even pulling out his phone and showing off some of the plans and photos of the finished buildings. Lovino had commented that he'd never even thought that Gilbert would graduate, much less get to being so successful, and Gilbert was so pleased that he could not be daunted, even when everyone agreed.

Feliciano and Lovino had both, as expected, gone into the art field, but both with very different mindsets. Feliciano had studied very traditional styles of painting, and obtained a Masters degree in Fine Arts with extensive study of the Italian Renaissance, while Lovino had settled for a Bachelors in Illustration, and was now doing freelance work drawing magazine covers and, more recently, illustrating children's books.

Antonio had very animatedly talked about the adorable children at the daycare center where he taught, being sure to mention that, as cute as they were, they were not as adorable as his little Bella, who was sleeping soundly, snuggled against his shoulder. At the mention of her name, as if she could hear them in her sleep, the infant's eyes began to open blearily. They all watched as, when Bella realized that she was in an unfamiliar place, she started to whimper, threatening to burst out into tears.

"Shh, shh, Bella, it's okay. Papa's here," Antonio cooed softly, holding her up so that she could see his face. Elizaveta watched the exchange, saw as Bella started to relax and reach for Antonio's shirt, with a smile that steadily grew on her face. She looked over at Roderich, who was watching the scene as well (they all were, of course) with a look of fascination and, barely masked underneath, a glimpse of dread and worry in his features.

Elizaveta tsked, taking his long hand in her own small one and laying his palm over her womb, where their child was taking his time growing. He looked up at her in alarm, but before he could open his mouth, no doubt to ask if she was okay, Elizaveta squeezed his fingers.

Roderich's cheeks flushed lightly and he smiled, rubbing his wife's small baby bump for just a moment before pulling his hand back shyly. Elizaveta kissed him softly on the cheek, turning back to the rest of the group in time to meet Bella's inquisitive eyes.

"Hey there baby," she cooed, and Bella coiled back, fisting her hand more tightly in Antonio's shirt. Elizaveta frowned, and Bella turned away, burying her nose in her father's chest.

"Come on, Bella, this is Auntie Liz. She loves you, so you don't have to be scared."

Antonio's cooing had no effect, as the child looked back up from behind her chubby arm cautiously. Elizaveta waved at her and she stared, still afraid.

Then Bella looked away, turning her attentions to the rest of the adults, all of whom were enthralled by her actions. It was amazing, Elizaveta realized, how easily an infant could capture the attention of adults, how fascinating each of her gestures were. Seeing Bella coo and babble and cling to her parents made her even more excited for when she would be raising a child of her own.

Suddenly, to everyone's great surprise, Bella's gaze stopped when it reached Ludwig, and she gave him a quizzical look, before beginning to babble and holding her arms out to him. And, while everyone was shocked by the suddenness of it, no one was more shocked that Lovino, who was slack jawed and speechless, and Ludwig himself, who was looking at Bella as if hoping she would realize she was making a mistake.

There was no such luck for him, however, and Bella started to fuss in Antonio's grasp, wriggling and whimpering, stretching out and crying for Ludwig to hold her.

"Come on Ludwig," Feliciano finally cut in, "Take her!"

When Ludwig hesitated, Feliciano nudged his shoulder smiling, "Go on!"

"Are you sure…?" The blond asked nervously, meeting Antonio's gaze; he too was grinning.

"Of course! If Bella wants to spent time with you, that's fine with us. Isn't that right, Lovino?"

Lovino grumbled something incomprehensible, but it obviously wasn't denying him permission, and so Ludwig hesitantly took Bella, who immediately gave a happy gurgle and patted her palm against his thin cheek.

Gilbert laughed, "Look, Bruder, you've got a little sweetheart!"

"H-Hello, Bella," Ludwig stuttered; Elizaveta found it adorable that Bella managed to do in mere moments what no one but Feliciano had managed to do in the past 26 years; she had managed to fluster Ludwig to the point of flushing his cheeks with a pinkish hue.

"Introduce yourself to her," Antonio coaxed, "go on. She wants to know who you are."

"B-But… why me?"

"Pft," Lovino snorted, "Hell if we know. She probably inherited her uncle's bad taste."

"Lovino!" Elizaveta snapped, frowning, "That's not a polite thing to say, or a good example to set."

Gilbert barely managed to suppress a laugh as Lovino flushed with embarrassment.

"Sorry."

Feliciano patted his brother's head, "It's fine. I know you don't mean it!"

Lovino looked as if he was ready to protest, but a sharp look from Elizaveta caused him to shut his mouth.

"Go on," she coaxed gently, excited to see how Bella would respond, "it's rare for children Bella's age to want to be away from their parents, so if she's letting you hold her she must already like you. You're not going to do anything wrong, Ludwig."

Apparently those were the words the blond needed to hear, as he cleared his throat and started, "My name is Ludwig- ah, U-Uncle Ludwig…"

He looked up, past the child, asking silently for Antonio's approval; the brunet was nodding happily, gesturing with his hands '_go on'_.

"Um…" Ludwig trailed off, but it hardly mattered that he was at a loss for words; apparently Bella had decided that Ludwig was a good person and very comfortable, as she leaned in to his chest and started to nibble on his shirt.

Ludwig looked up at Antonio helplessly; Elizaveta hid her chuckle behind her hand, while Antonio and Feliciano were too busy gushing over how adorable she was to give Ludwig the assistance he was looking for. Gilbert, who was apparently too manly to stick around while an "estrogen fest" took place (his words, not hers), has gone off to go get food, and Roderich still had that expression of "oh God that is going to be me very soon, isn't it?" on his face. Elizaveta realized that this exposure was probably good for him. Perhaps, if they were lucky, Bella would warm up to him as well…

"Here," Lovino snapped, pressing a bottle into the hand that was not supporting the infant. "She's trying to tell you that she's hungry."

"A-Ah," Ludwig nodded, pressing the bottle to her lips; as promised, she took it in her hands and suckled eagerly. For the first time since he'd first started carrying her, Ludwig's face finally relaxed into a smile as he held up the end of the bottle for her to drink more easily from it.

Elizaveta did not want to point out that Feliciano had snapped a few pictures of the scene with his cell phone; she made a mental note to email him later for copies.

"Don't tilt it so much…" Lovino muttered, adjusting the other male's hand around the bottle, "She'll choke if so much goes into her mouth at once."

"Aw, Lovino, you're such a good papa!"

"Shut- _Be quiet_, Antonio…"

Gilbert returned a moment later, leaning his arm over Antonio's shoulder and watching his brother's attempt at nurturing with a lopsided smile.

"She's a really cute kid, Toni. In fact, I think you should let Uncle Gilbert hold her for a while."

"Uncle?"

Gilbert quirked his eyebrow at Lovino, nodding slowly, which only served to visibly infuriate the brunet that much more.

"Duh. Toni and I are brothers, isn't that right?"

Antonio nodded, slinging his arm around Gilbert's shoulders. "Of course, always."

"Tch, brothers my as-" Lovino was quick to cut himself off, even though it didn't seem like Bella was paying him any attention, far more interested in her bottle and the shiny button on Ludwig's suit jacket. "If you're so brotherly, how come you haven't talked to him in months, huh?"

Gilbert frowned, and Elizaveta took a moment to brace herself for the shouting match to begin.

"None of your fucking business!"

"Gilbert!" Ludwig glared, but he was wholly ignored. Elizaveta patted his shoulder, and when she got his attention she just shook her head.

"Let them go at," she whispered, "though if things get explosive it's probably best that you just walk away and let me handle it."

"It is my business when someone upsets Antonio, okay? It's entirely my business, and while he's too nice to say anything to you, I'm not!"

Gilbert was, for a moment, speechless. Elizaveta sighed loudly, drawing attention to herself.

"Don't worry, Lovino, I already chewed him out tonight. He's plenty guilty, aren't you Gilbert?"

Elizaveta knew that it was contrary to his nature to agree; after all, being guilty for things was, in the words of Gilbert past, "totally not awesome." But when he huffed and didn't respond, she knew that it would come across, at least to Ludwig, Antonio, and even Roderich (she hoped), that he truly was guilty.

Gilbert crossed his wiry arms tightly over his lean chest, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. Harshly he muttered, "Yes," looking up at giving such a defiant stare as if challenging anyone to question him. No one did, and Elizaveta decided it was time for a change in mood.

"Speaking of brothers," she started softly, "where is the third musketeer?"

"You mean Francis?"

Elizaveta nodded, and Antonio shrugged.

"He told me that he might not be coming. A big order came in, and he is going to stay behind and work on it…"

Gilbert was the first to react, face turning into a grimace as he snarled the words everyone was thinking, "And you guys thought I was bad. I may not have been the most awesome friend, but at least I showed up!"

"Gilbert, relax, everyone's got a job to do and sometimes things just don't work out."

Gilbert's jaw tensed, and he pulled his arm away from Elizaveta's touch.

"I know Francis. Francis hasn't changed at all since high school and I _know him_. He's got enough charm that if he wanted to get out of work, he could do so with ease, and if he's not here it's because he doesn't want to be here."

"Gilbert!"

The albino gave a hollow laugh, grip around Antonio's shoulder tightening, "Isn't that right, Antonio? Some forever this turned out to be…"

Antonio surprised them all by roughly shoving Gilbert away from him.

"You're a pretty horrible person, aren't you? If you've come here to make us all feel like shit, Gilbert, then I'm sorry but I don't want to be around you."

"What?"

"You know exactly what. You… you were my best friend, and then you stopped talking to me, and sure you showed up at my graduation and my wedding and you send me the occasional email but _you_ were the one who promised high school wasn't the end, and _you_ are the one who broke that promise!"

Everyone was silent, except for Bella, who had started whimpering at the sound of her father's cross tone. Feliciano was quick to help Ludwig hush her, which was just as well because even Lovino was so shocked the sound barely registered.

"Antonio…"

"What?"

"I…"

Gilbert huffed, and Antonio licked his dry lips, waiting for a response.

And then the truly unexpected happened. Because the others had all been waiting to see what was going to be said next, no one felt or saw anyone new step up to the group, until suddenly a pale hand, covered in colorful splotches, gripped Antonio's shoulder, it's other gripping Gilbert in the same manner.

"I cannot believe it…"

_to be continued_

* * *

A/N: Filler chapter? What filler chapter? Oh... this one... ehehe ^^; Well, in my defense, it's cute. So yeah. There.

So yes, I am sorry about the amount of sheer fluff in this chapter and not much else; this part is very different from part one, I'll give you that. The next chapter will have a little more in the way of plot.

AND OH LOOK, I WONDER WHO THAT IS AT THE END THERE /shot

Thank you for reading!

crimson-obsidian-rose


	11. Part II Chapter IV

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

**Scarred Heart in Hand, Part II Chapter IV**

* * *

"I cannot believe it."

A new voice, smooth as velvet, cut through the tension like a sharp knife. "I work as quickly as I can in order to make it here, only to come and find my two closest friends moments away from attacking one another?"

"Francis…?" Antonio murmured, his gaze trained on Gilbert as if he was too scared to look up.

Francis gave a deep-throated chuckle and squeezed both of their arms more tightly.

"Who else?"

No one said a thing, until Gilbert laughed and turned to look his old friend in the eye,

"So, you decided to show up after all, Franny."

"Ah, you will never know how much I missed hearing you call me that…"

Antonio turned around and shut Francis up by giving a hug tight enough to rival the one he'd given Gilbert at the beginning of the evening.

Francis was taken off guard, and when he recovered he chuckled and patted Antonio's hair back, returning the hug with a smile.

"You're here."

"Yes, I am. It has been a long time, no?"

"Too long. Between you and Gilbert ignoring me, I was beginning to think about having a second wedding just to get your attention."

Gilbert started to look guilty again, but Francis gave another laugh and pulled away, shaking his head.

"That is not necessary, Antonio. Though, I am sorry for being so being so busy as of late; opening one's own pastry shop is such an appealing idea until you realize how much there is to be done."

Antonio laughed as well, but he forced a frown onto his face, "I refuse to accept that excuse."

They shared a laugh, and suddenly Gilbert felt very much like an outsider.

Francis took a step back and walked up to the rest of the group, apologizing for having ignored them and greeting everyone pleasantly.

"How far along are you, Elizaveta?" He asked, obviously as surprised as Gilbert was that she was expecting, but taking the news much better.

"Five months," she smiled in response, patting her belly like the picture of a happy mother; Gilbert found that he could not help but smile as well.

"So you would know the gender, then…?"

"It's a boy," Roderich answered, a small hint of pride in his tone.

"How exciting that must be," Francis commented, "Do you have any ideas for his name?"

Elizaveta shrugged, "We haven't been able to decide, so we're willing to take suggestions."

Suddenly it seemed as if everyone was thinking; Gilbert cut in just as Feliciano was about to open his mouth.

"Frederick. You should name him Frederick."

Elizaveta giggled, "Still obsessed with Prussia, I see."

"No, well, yeah, I am Prussian after all, but that's not why."

"I like it." Roderich said finally, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Gilbert knew that gesture to mean he did not want to make eye contact, but still he tried to give him a look. "It is a strong name, but not absolutely brutish."

"It's fine with me," Elizaveta agreed, a grin spreading on her face as she turned to speak to the bulge in her stomach, "What do you think, little Fritz?"

Feliciano giggled, "Has he kicked you yet? I've always wondered how that would feel…"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Elizaveta answered, shaking her head, "though the doctor said he should start moving around in there soon. He's probably just shy and gentle, like his father."

Roderich flushed, frowning in embarrassment. "Elizaveta, don't say such things."

"Why not," she pouted teasingly, kissing his flushed cheek. "I haven't said anything wrong; he is your son, and you are shy."

When Roderich coughed and tried to shake off his blush, everyone laughed softly.

"Hey, you know what would be cute?"

"Hm?"

"If Fritz and Bella grow up and fall in love!"

"No!" Lovino scowled, and his brother turned to him with a pout.

"B-But… that would be so cute!"

"Absolutely not," he responded firmly. Antonio brushed his fingers in his husband's hair.

"Why not, Lovi?"

"Yes, why not?" Elizaveta repeated in a sugary sweet voice that Gilbert recognized as her "if you don't give me a good answer you're going to lose your baby making abilities" voice. Judging by the look on his face, Lovino recognized it too.

"Oh, uh… I just… don't want to think about Bella growing up, is all!"

It was a decent save, Gilbert had to admit. Elizaveta seemed to agree, as she nodded and the smile returned to her face. Lovino did a horrible hiding his sigh of relief.

"Speaking of Bella," Francis cut in, "when do I get to see her?"

"Oh, Ludwig's got her… wait, where did he go?"

"What?" Lovino roared, looking around frantically. "Where the fuck did that bastard go with my baby?"

He grabbed Feliciano by the collar of his shirt, glaring at his younger brother vehemently. Feliciano's eyes widened instantly, and he pointed a shaky finger off in the direction of a more abandoned section of the gym, where it was easy to spot Ludwig sitting down with an infant in his arms.

"Bella fell asleep," Feliciano explained with a stutter, "so Ludwig took her over there where it was quieter…"

Lovino dropped his brother; Gilbert was impressed that he had even managed to pick him up off the floor, what with the amount of pasta Feliciano consumed on a daily basis and how scrawny Lovino was. Still, he refused to comment, so enthralled by the on-going drama.

"Why didn't he just give her back to us, then?" Lovino growled. Gilbert didn't know him very well, but something told him the clip in the other's tone was more to do with embarrassment at overreacting than with actual anger.

Feliciano shrugged, "I think he likes holding her. It makes him feel good that she likes him!"

Lovino bit his lip, obviously torn between going and stealing his baby back, and leaving Ludwig be. Gilbert would have probably make a comment about how much of a pansy his brother was being, but he found that the thought of Ludwig being so moved by the baby's love was something he could, for some reason, not poke fun at.

Not to mention, Elizaveta would have killed him.

"That's fine," Francis said, making Lovino's mind up for him, "I'm sure I'll get to play with her later. In the mean time, Lovino, do you mind if I steal your husband for a bit."

"Why?" Lovino responded suspiciously.

"Don't worry," Francis responded calmly, swinging an arm around Antonio's shoulder, and his other around Gilbert's. "I just think it is time for the three of us to catch up."

Feliciano and Elizaveta smiled, Roderich having excused him a few moments earlier, and the younger Italian brother coaxed Lovino to agree. Not that it mattered much what Lovino had to say, because Gilbert and Francis were going to steal Antonio away anyways; it was probably that line of thinking that forced Lovino to give his reluctant approval so easily.

Once Lovino had agreed, Francis was quick to cart them off, taking each of them by the hand and pulling them back out into the hallway and through a set of stairwell doors.

"Where're you taking us?" Antonio asked amusedly, and even thought Gilbert could not see him he knew that the brunet of their trio was wearing that same wide grin, as bright as ever.

"Here is fine," Francis decided, letting them go and walking halfway up the stairs to sit on one of the steps. "I just wanted to be away from the noise and the crowd."

Antonio followed him, sitting on a step two down from Francis' and leaning his head against the wall.

"Yeah… it really has been too long. When was the last time we were all together, alone?"

"I believe it was the morning of your wedding," Francis mused, "when we were trying to keep you from buttoning your shirt up incorrectly and pulling your messy hair out."

Antonio chuckled softly, "I was so nervous, I barely remember that."

Francis joined him for a laugh, before looking up at Gilbert, quirking an eyebrow.

"I am aware that these stairs are probably incredibly very dirty, but that has never stopped you from sitting on them before. So, why are you still standing all the way over there?"

Gilbert, overwhelmed as he was with the feeling of loss and the sudden sensation of being very far away from the other two, even though they were sitting there right before him, finally grinned.

"I was waiting for one of you to request the presence of my awesome self. You know I won't sit with just anyone."

Francis rolled his eyes, and Antonio laughed.

"Yes, of course, how silly of us to forget," Francis started. "Oh, awesome Gilbert, would you do us the honor of gracing us with your presence?" He offered his hand, and Gilbert scoffed,

"Well, I suppose since you asked so humbly…"

Gilbert laughed, taking those few steps forward, jumping onto the staircase and sitting on the step in between those of Francis and Antonio.

There was a moment where all three were silent, and things suddenly felt so _right_ for Gilbert, more right than they ever had. That feeling continued on, even as Antonio broke the silence,

"How have you guys been?"

"I've been well," Francis answered. "I opened the shop for business only… wow, it has been almost a year, now. And we are always packed, always busy, but even though it is hard work I do not think there is anything else I would rather be doing."

"Good," Antonio murmured calmly, smiling and patting Francis' leg. "And you, Gilbert?"

The albino shrugged, "I already showed you the stuff I've been working on. There's not really much else happening."

"Oh, I don't think that is all," Francis countered. "Are there no lovers we should know about?"

Gilbert shook his head, putting on a smirk. "Nah, man, I fly solo."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what happened what Matthew, then? It could not have been more painfully obvious that there was mutual interest."

"There was?" Gilbert quirked an eyebrow, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood through his body, shrugging them off along with Francis' comment. "I hadn't noticed. When I went off to college we emailed for a bit, but stuff happened. He went off to a school up in Canada, somewhere, met a guy and they hit it off."

He tried his best to sound nonchalant about it, even though the change in Matthew Williams' Facebook status left him feeling defeated for reasons he did not then understand.

"Shame…" Francis hummed, leaning back against the step behind him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

"That stopped being funny in the seventh grade," he commented dryly, but Gilbert knew he was trying not to laugh. "Are you the one who stopped emailing him first?"

Gilbert froze, but shook it off quickly, "Pft, as if I pay attention to such stupid girly details…"

That was all the answer Francis needed; Antonio just gave Gilbert an upset look, which it took the albino a moment to realize was different from a disappointed one. He decided that maybe it was time to change the subject.

"Yeah? What about your love life, Mr. FrouFrou French Romance?"

"Ah, well, I am afraid I have to report that it is pretty much as bad as yours."

"Hey!"

"Aw, Francis," Antonio murmured, ignoring Gilbert's insulted protest. "What happened?"

Francis shrugged, and Gilbert recognized the gesture. "Arthur and I, to put it quite simply, grew apart."

"How? You two were pretty much attached at the lips."

Francis laughed ruefully, "The time zone difference, the lack of physical contact, an overwhelming amount of time spent studying on his end and training and interning on mine. Life simply did not allow for things to last…"

"But you still love him," Antonio chimed in. "Both of you still love them."

Francis looked at Gilbert and tried to share a look with him, "Yes, but I do not think I want to get my hopes up that he might still love me. For all I know, he could have already found someone else… he might even have a child."

Sometime during Francis' story, Gilbert allowed his eyes to fall shut; he did not open them until the blond added, "Speaking of children, how has your life been, Antonio? Are things going well with Lovino?"

Antonio gave a small smile, almost as if he was trying to contain his happiness out of some terribly misguided guilt.

"Things are amazing. There aren't as many problem kids in my class this year as there usually are, which is good, since Bella can be a bit of a handful sometimes."

"But she's worth it, right?"

"Definitely. I wouldn't give her up for anything, she's made us so happy…"

"I could not help but notice, even from the distance, she looks a lot like Lovino…" Francis trailed off, and Antonio nodded.

"Bella's mother is Lovino's cousin. Some stuff happened back home and Bella was left without any able guardians, and we were looking to adopt a child at the time, so we took her in. She was only maybe a month old when we got her. Her mother had asked that she be named Marina, so her legal name is Marina Isabella Vargas Carriedo, but Bella just stuck…"

Antonio, probably realizing that he was beginning to ramble, trailed off. Francis laughed softly, and even Gilbert smiled,

"She's a lucky kid. Pretty cute, too."

"You'd better not be making eyes at my daughter, Gilbert."

"What? She's like one, man, I'm not desperate!"

The trio laughed, when suddenly Francis thumped Gilbert on the back, none too lightly.

"When we go back inside, you are going to ask Matthew to dance with you," he said. "That is not a request."

"Why?"

"Because you still have feelings for him, and you are a bitter, lonely person in need of some amour."

"I am not lon-, well, maybe I am lonely, but I'm not bitter!"

"I am not convinced." Francis deadpanned; Antonio sniggered.

"Well, fine. I'll ask him to dance, but we're not going to make fools of ourselves alone, so you had better find yourself a dance partner, too. And you, Toni, get that stick out of your husband's ass and join us."

Francis stood up, grinning and offering his hands, "I accept. Let us go, then, before we waste the whole night away."

_To Be Continued_

* * *

A/N: To those of you who are still reading this fic, thank you. You don't know how much it means to me, especially since, as I'm re-reading it, I'm realizing how silly and pointless a lot of part II is. I hope you are enjoying the story, especially since we're nearing the end :3

crimson-obsidian-rose


	12. Part II Chapter V

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

**

* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand, Part II Chapter V**

When they re-entered the gymnasium, Antonio pulled his hand away from Francis', running up the back where Lovino was still sitting with Elizaveta and Feliciano and leaning into his husband. Francis smiled, but it vanished quickly when he found that he had to give Gilbert a push in the right direction with Matthew (quite literally; Gilbert almost fell over, which is what caught Matthew's attention). Gilbert had turned around to curse at Francis, who simply wiggled his fingers and called out a fond "Bonjour!" to Matthew before making his way to the corner table, where Ludwig was still seated, joined by Roderich and a sleeping Bella.

"Hello," he started, pulling up a seat and sitting with them. Both men instantly dropped their conversation and turned to him.

"Hello, Francis."

He nodded, before pointing over to the couple of Lovino and Antonio, "I could not help but notice that more people are starting to head for the dance floor. Perhaps Feliciano and Elizaveta would like to dance as well?"

Roderich coughed, "I don't think that is a very good idea, all things considered."

"Why not? You mean, because Elizaveta is pregnant?"

"Well, yes, actually."

Francis shook his head, "You are babying her, Roderich. If there is anything that Elizaveta is, it is capable enough to handle herself. I am not asking you to do anything wild, just treat her to a short waltz to make her happy."

"T-This is hardly the right music for a waltz."

"Then you will just have to lead her with your own."

Roderich hesitated, looking up at his wife, who met his gaze and smiled, waving at him. He cleared his throat and looked away.

"Francis is right," Ludwig spoke suddenly, "it would make her happy."

Sighing, the brunet stood up and made his way over to her. From the short distance, Francis could see clearly how Elizaveta's face lit up as she led Roderich to the floor. He turned to Ludwig with a smile, holding his hands out for Bella.

"You too," he instructed, and Ludwig bit a very small sliver of his lip.

"I have to hold the baby."

"I'll hold Bella, Ludwig; you need to go make your boyfriend happy."

"But…" Francis could see that Ludwig's cheeks were flushed as he trailed off, scrambling for an excuse. "If she wakes up and finds herself with a stranger, she'll scream."

"And I will deal with it, rest assured. Now, then, are you planning on leaving Feliciano standing there alone for the rest of the evening?"

Francis gestured past himself, to where the small brunet was standing, bobbing his head gently along to the music as he watched the dancers take to the floor; apparently others had followed Antonio and Lovino's example, and now the gym was full of couples. Even the DJ had noticed, apparently, as the next song to begin was slower than the ones before it, and much more romantic.

Ludwig was still looking at Feliciano when Francis turned back to him, and it did not take long for him to heave a sigh and nod, standing slowly and gently passing the infant over to Francis' waiting arms.

"Be sure to enjoy yourself," Francis smiled at him, shifting Bella in his arms to hold her more comfortably. Ludwig watched as she sighed, relaxing into Francis' chest, before nodding tersely (probably because of his nerves, Francis decided) and striding in precise steps over to his lover.

Francis stopped watching them after Feliciano squealed, jumped up, and drug Ludwig away to the dance floor with a bounce in his step, turning his attentions to the sleeping baby in his hands. She really did resemble Lovino, with the light tan of her skin and chocolately color of her hair, and especially with the way she had her fist balled up in Francis' shirt, giving him the sense that regardless of how she felt about him she was not about to let go.

"Hello, little Bella," he murmured softly, a long pale finger tracing over her lips; when she puckered them up, he chuckled. "I am your uncle, Francis. Your father Antonio is the closest thing to a brother, to a family, that I have ever had, and so I have been waiting a long, long time to meet you. He talks about you so much; he and Lovino love you to pieces. You are very lucky to have such loving men as your fathers."

Francis paused for a moment, brushing a short lock of hair away from her forehead, and then he added, "And they are very lucky to have you, too."

He looked back up at the crowd of couples, making out the forms of his friends in the throng. Elizaveta and Roderich were easy to spot, swaying in their own little world off to the side; Francis guessed that Roderich had insisted they avoid the throng of dancers so that Elizaveta not be knocked over, and the thought made him chuckle softly. A short way away, Lovino had his head lain in Antonio's chest, his eyes shut and his body relaxed against his husband's, Antonio's own body holding the other up close to him.

It took him a little longer to spot Gilbert and Matthew; his gaze passed over the couple of Berwald and Tino (_'Are they married'_? Francis hoped so), over Alfred dancing with Chelles (he noted the lightness of their gait, the lack of intimacy that told him they were dancing as friends, not lovers), over Gupta in Sadiq's arms and Kiku in Heracles', until finally he spotted the head of snowy white hair.

Gilbert and Matthew were holding each other shyly, standing an arm's length apart, as if they were truly at a high school affair. It frustrated Francis to see them act so hesitantly, because he had hoped that they would realize they wasted so much time being shy in the past, lost so many opportunities.

He was especially disappointed in Matthew, who had emailed him a few days in advance of the reunion to ask for advance on how to rekindle their relationship. Francis had instructed him to take the most direct approach, to simply ask Gilbert if he would like to dance, or share a drink, or even just talk (after all, he was sure to point out, Gilbert loved to talk about himself). And yet, when he had arrived at the reunion they were both on opposite sides of the gym, and Matthew refused to meet his gaze.

The song ended, and Francis watched as Gilbert started to pull away as the next, much slower song started up. But, to his and Gilbert's surprise, Matthew grabbed the albino's arm just as he was about to turn away and pulled him a little closer. Even Francis could see that Matthew's reddened cheeks, and a moment later a smattering of pink was visible on Gilbert's as he accepted, the two of them falling into the slow dance along with the other couples.

"Ah, isn't love beautiful, Bella?" he murmured, smiling back down at the baby in his arms. "I only hope that someday you will be able to experience that kind of love for yourself, for it is truly worth all the hurt and heartache that comes along with it..."

"…F-Francis?" A new voice suddenly murmured from behind him; no, not a new voice. A very, very familiar old voice, one that had called his names countless times, one that had driven his crazy with hate and love and passion at its sound. One that he had not expected to hear, possibly ever again, and certainly not on that night…

And yet, when Francis turned around, painfully slowly, there was no mistaking the figure standing behind him.

It was Arthur Kirkland.

* * *

Arthur's day had been, to say the least, quite hectic. There was last minute packing to do when he woke up, because his housemates had insisted that he go out and party with them, dragging him out of the house almost against his will the previous night. After he had been sure that he had all his belongings packed up, while simultaneously fighting the pounding ache in his skull, Arthur had to find something to eat quickly as he hailed a cab to take him to the airport. Then there was the hassle at the airport, and a turbulent flight that he was hell bent on keeping him from getting any sleep, and delays at the arriving airport that forced them to spend an extra hour in the air before they could land.

It had been so tempting, when he arrived at his father's home, to flop onto his bed after he had dropped off his suitcases and sleep for two days. But the reunion envelope in his pocket kept him from it. Instead he freshened up, spent quite a lot longer than he perhaps should have trying to decide what he should wear, and left the house nearly two hours after the three and a half hour reunion began, wondering if he was making a mistake.

When he had arrived at his high school, he was immediately assaulted by all the things that were the same; the school's entrance was still just as imposing, the giant tree, though bare of leaves, felt almost exactly as large, though Arthur realize it probably had grown quite a bit. Even the smell that had filled his nose when he first walked in tugged at his heartstrings, and somehow being in these familiar halls felt more like being at home than actually being in his father's home had.

Of course, it was also far more nerve-wracking for him to be here at school than it had been for him to be at home. He knew that his father held no opinions of him, positive or negative, for him to live up to, but certainly his old classmates all had their impressions of him and ideas about what he was going to become. Honestly, Arthur had no idea what to expect, and that was probably what scared him the most.

That, and reuniting with Francis Bonnefoy. Arthur had fallen out of touch with Francis years and years ago, and he had no clue what became of his old friend. His old boyfriend, even, which probably made it all the worst.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur shook all of these thoughts from his mind, making a mental note to locate some alcohol when the opportunity presented itself because he was in desperate need of anything that would shut his mind off. Then he pushed open the double doors to the gymnasium, took another deep breath, and walked it.

The middle of the gym floor had been turned into a dance floor, and from Arthur could tell most of the people in the gym were coupled up, swaying to the soft romantic music playing. Judging by the fact that Arthur could recognize the song that was playing, he gathered that the DJ was playing music that was popular ten years before to fit in with the reunion mood. Around the makeshift dance floor were several round tables and chairs, arranged in a manner reminiscent of prom, or a wedding. These were, for the most part, unoccupied, though there were handbags and drink glasses (Arthur could not tell what sort of beverage was in them) scattered all over the tabletops.

Arthur glanced briefly at the dance floor, able to make out a few faces and even fewer names from among the throng of people. Alfred was one of the more easily identifiable people, dancing with Chelles with moves much too fast and loose to match the beat of the music. The sight brought a smile to Arthur's face; it was nice to know that Alfred still marched to the beat of his own drum.

There was one face that Arthur had not been able to spot in the crowd of dancers, and it was the face that he had been most anxious to see.

And then Arthur spotted him; Francis Bonneyfoy was, surprisingly, not dancing. Even more surprisingly (was it really, though?), there was an infant in his arms.

Arthur bit his lip, walking around the gymnasium to approach the other, and he was close enough he could hear the other talking to the child;

"Ah, isn't love beautiful, Bella? I only hope that someday you will be able to experience that kind of love for yourself, for it is truly worth all the hurt and heartache that comes along with it..."

There was a pang of hurt that suddenly struck Arthur chest, but he forced himself to stand perfectly straight, so that he would not submit to the sudden desire to run away, and when he found himself about to speak again he started,

"…F-Francis?"

The other man's shoulder visibly stiffened, and then Francis was turned around and their eyes met.

_To Be Continued _

* * *

A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUN. Don't you love misunderstandings?

crimson-obsidian-rose


	13. Part II Chapter VI

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

**

* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand, Part II Chapter VI**

"…F-Francis?"

The other man's shoulder visibly stiffened, and then Francis was turned around and their eyes met.

'_He looks older_,' Arthur realized immediately; the features of Francis' face similar to what they had been when they parted at the airport ten and a half years earlier, but his face was longer, thinner, more mature looking. There were small, subtle bags hiding under his eyelids, his nose was bonier than it had been, his hair had grown out a bit more, and the most obvious difference of all was that the small hint of a goatee Francis used to wear fleshed out into a much more prominent one.

"Arthur?" he spoke finally, breaking the silence that had fallen down upon them. Arthur watched as he licked his lips, before breaking into a warm smile, "I did not think that you were going to come today."

"I didn't tell anyone," Arthur admitted, "I wanted it to be a surprise."

Francis laughed; to Arthur's ears it sounded heavy and forced, but he wasn't sure if he was imposing that sentiment on it simply because he was uncomfortable.

"It's a surprise indeed. Come, sit down, Arthur, there is no need for you to stand."

Arthur nodded, deciding that was a good idea; when he sat down he wondered how he'd gone standing for so long, because his legs collapsed like cooked spaghetti.

"So," Francis started again, absently running a finger over the chest of the infant girl in his arms, "How have you been, Arthur?"

"Oh, I've been doing well. And yourself?"

Francis chuckled, and Arthur wondered if the situation was as awkward for the other as it was for him.

"I have been doing quite fine. After I graduated from the French Culinary Institute I remained in the city for a while, working at various bakeries and pastry shops that would have me. This part year, though, I was able to open my own shop, which is hectic but delightful."

"I can only imagine that it would be."

"And how about you; what have you done since you graduated?"

Arthur shrugged, brushing an irritating lock of hair away from his forehead, "I completed my undergraduate degree in English Literature, then a Masters in the same. Just this summer I got my Doctorate. My thesis was focused on the works of William Shakespeare."

Arthur realized that he had started rambling, and yet when he looked up it was obvious that Francis had not lost interest in what he was saying. Actually, the obvious seemed true, as Francis leaned in and spoke softly.

"Congratulations, Arthur. Or, shall I say, Doctor Kirkland. I never doubted that you would come this far."

"Ehm, yes, thank you…"

There was another silence, and Arthur, out of equal parts curiosity and nowhere else to look, turned his attention to the sleeping baby that Francis was cradling. She had lightly tanned skin and dark brown hair, features that Arthur could not identify with any one nationality, but that he observed could not be any further from Francis'. He looked closer, trying to find some common trait they shared, and finally decided that the softness of her hair and the thinness of her lips were rather Francis-like.

"Oh," Francis said suddenly, breaking the silence and shifting the baby slightly, "forgive me for not introducing you. Arthur, this is Bella."

Bella. The name could have been Spanish or Italian, and so at least Arthur could deduce that her mother was probably Mediterranean.

"She's beautiful," he replied calmly. "It looks as if… you've done well for yourself, Francis."

Francis quirked an eyebrow at him, and Arthur got the sudden feeling that he had something wrong. That feeling was only intensified when Francis began to laugh.

"Oh, you think- Oh, no, Arthur, Bella isn't _mine_."

"Oh." Wow, now Arthur felt stupid. "Whose is she, then?"

Francis gestured towards the crowd of couples, "I'm sure it is quite obvious, really," he started with a chuckle. "She is the daughter of Antonio and Lovino, and I am watching her for them so that they can enjoy themselves."

Yes, definitely stupid. "Oh... Well, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"…Are you enjoying yourself, tonight?"

Francis looked back out at the dance floor, this time with a soft smile.

"Yes," he said decisively, "I am. Getting to see everyone again."

He trailed off, and picked up again only after he had turned around to look Arthur in the eye once more, "…Getting to see you again."

"Francis…"

"I have missed you, Arthur," Francis murmured an octave lower. Arthur felt himself blush, and was suddenly embarrassed by the way his body reacted, as if he was eighteen and not twenty-eight.

"So have I…"

"When did you get back?"

"Um," Arthur looked down at his watch before answering, "my plane landed about two hours ago."

Arthur took delight in Francis' incredulous expression, and tried to ignore how tired and jetlagged he was for just a little bit longer.

"And you came here?"

"Yes, well, it's not as if returning today was an arbitrary choice."

Francis looked a bit smug at that, "Oh, are you admitting that you have missed us, Arthur?"

Arthur smirked, "Perhaps. But don't let it get to your head, frog, I haven't missed you."

"That hurts," Francis chuckled. Then he sighed, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

"What is it?" Arthur demanded.

"Everything about this moment feels right," he responded simply, "Wouldn't you agree?"

Arthur hesitated; when he opened his mouth, the snappish retort refused to come to him as it so usually easily did. So he defaulted to the truth, and in that moment the truth was, "Yes."

Francis reached across the table, and brushed those long, nimble fingers over Arthur's cheek in the way that he always had that made the other go weak in the knees.

"Join me for dinner tomorrow. I fear we have very much catching up to do."

Arthur nodded, but after a moment he pulled away from Francis' fingers with a scowl. Francis laughed,

"You haven't changed very much at all, have you?"

"Have you?" Arthur countered, and Francis hummed,

"I suppose we shall see-"

Francis was cut off by the sound of an infant's whimpers, as Bella awoke in his arms. Her eyes were still shut tightly, so he began to shush her gently, cooing her name and attempting to coax her to relax.

It seemed as if Bella had realized that the voice was unfamiliar, because she opened her eyes and gave Francis a very confused look, patting his chest because it was the only thing that she could reach and then her lip began to quiver.

"Hush, Bella," he coaxed softly, "I am your Uncle Francis, and your Papas are just over there. Everything is alright, dear."

Bella remained unconvinced; Arthur was amused at how frazzled Francis was becoming until the baby screamed and started to cry.

Lovino and Antonio were at their table within seconds, the former glaring daggers at Francis while the latter seemed to be in as amiable a mood as ever.

"Give her to me. What did you do?" Lovino demanded, taking Bella away from Francis and bouncing her gently, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear in Italian. In his familiar hands she calmed down, rubbing her salty tears away. Antonio helped her, sliding his finger down her cheek and catching the droplets that she missed, and then he gave her nose a kiss that earned him a giggle.

Francis had simply looked sheepish, having no excuses to make because she had woken up of her own accord. As Lovino walked away with the baby, muttering something about changing her diaper, Antonio turned to make amends with his friend, and apparently he had only just noticed the other person sitting at the table. Arthur found Antonio's surprised expression rather amusing.

"Arthur! You're here! When did you get here? How long have you been in America? Oh, it's so good to see you again!"

All this was said very quickly, as Antonio grabbed Arthur and pulled him into a tight hug. Arthur was surprised to find that, uncomfortable as he was with physical contact, he didn't mind the hug; in fact, it was very much welcomed.

"Hello, Antonio," he answered simply, unsure of how to handle all of those questions. "How have you been?"

Antonio was still grinning when he pulled up another seat at the table and sat down with them, answering with a laugh, "Amazing. And you? "

Arthur thought about his headache, and about how absolutely queer it felt to back in this gymnasium when he had woken up this morning in a flat across the Atlantic Ocean. He thought about how awkward it felt, trying to become reacquainted with a man he had not seen in ten years; a man who, the last time he had seen him, he had been sobbing in front of. He thought about how lonely he had felt throughout his higher academic experience, not for lack of people around him, but because he had not been able to grow close to any of them.

He thought about how good it felt to be at home.

"I'm doing well," is what he said, finally, and Antonio nodded.

"That's good. Did you come back here for the reunion? I haven't seen you in town for a while."

"I only arrived in America a few hours ago."

"Wow, that is dedication," Antonio laughed, before pausing thoughtfully. "But then, you have always been dedicated to this school, haven't you?"

Arthur nodded, and hummed in agreement; he wasn't too surprised to come to the realization that he could not verbally agree because he felt guilty. From the corner of his eye Arthur could see Francis, sitting with his chin in his palms and surveying the dance floor thoughtfully. When Francis lifted his head up and caught his eye, Arthur turned away.

"I'm sorry I could not- I'm sorry I missed your wedding."

Antonio gave a soft chuckle from deep in his throat, flicking his wrist as if to say, _'it's no matter'_.

"Don't worry, Arthur. Lovino and I didn't expect that you would come; we sent you that invitation because you're our friend."

"I would have come," Arthur countered quickly, suddenly feeling the urge to defend himself. '_Don't be silly_' he told himself, '_Antonio isn't mad_.'

"I know, Arthur."

"…I apologize. I guess that flight took more out of me than I thought."

"That's alright," Antonio said reassuringly, placing his palm over the Arthur's hand. "You can go home, you know?"

"But… the reunion…"

"We don't need the school to organize a reunion for us," Antonio said, rolling his eyes amusedly, "I have a feeling we're all going to be seeing one another again very soon."

Antonio turned to Francis, giving him a very pointed look, to which Francis replied with a forced laugh.

"You can count on it, of course."

Then Francis rose from his seat, offering his hand with that same charming smile, "Come on, Arthur, allow me to escort you home."

Arthur nodded, too tired to feel embarrassed anymore (at least, that's why he tried to convince himself), and placed in hand in Francis'.

It was almost painful, how natural the gesture felt. Arthur stood up, and checked the desire to collapse into Francis' chest; he was more tired than he had realized, obviously.

"Gilbert will be upset if you leave without saying bye to him," Antonio told them. Francis looked up at Arthur imploringly, and the British man sighed.

"I wanted to go talk to Alfred, anyways…"

"Thank you," Francis smiled, leaning in closer to Arthur, who was struck with the sudden fear that Francis was going to kiss him.

The moment passed, however, with Francis pulling back just as easily as he had moved in. Arthur shook his head, wondering if he was going crazy, and took his hand back from Francis'.

"Well, yeah, I'll just be going then…"

"Shall we meet outside in fifteen minutes, then?"

"Yeah, that sounds fine…"

Francis nodded, excusing himself and cutting into the throng of dancers. When Arthur lost sight of him, he turned to bid Antonio farewell, but even he had slipped away. Arthur looked up, and found him harassing Lovino at the second gym entrance, taking the baby from him and fondling her. The sight of it brought a smile to Arthur's weary face.

A smile which faded as soon as Arthur turned back to the dancers, and found Alfred, bowing to Chelles and excusing himself. It was now or never…

_

* * *

To be continued_

A/N: There is only one chapter go, and I plan on posting it sometime this weekend, so stay tuned for this conclusion of this rather long fic. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with it for this long, you don't know how much it means to me!

crimson-obsidian-rose


	14. Part II Final

Withouth further ado, the final chapter:

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

**

* * *

Scarred Heart in Hand Part II Final**

…A smile which faded as soon as Arthur turned back to the dancers, and found Alfred, bowing to Chelles and excusing himself. It was now or never…

Slowly he walked over to the table where Alfred was currently fanning himself with a napkin, and munching on a cookie that had been on his plate. Alfred had apparently not noticed him approaching, so when Arthur got within hearing distance he cleared his throat loudly.

Alfred looked up, and proceeded to choke on his cookie. Typical. Arthur rolled his eyes, pulled up the seat across from Alfred's, and smirked at him.

"Are you going to sit there and stare in awe all evening, or are you going to say something?"

Alfred thumped himself on the chest, and gave one more hacking cough, winking at Arthur to let him know he was okay.

"Artie… oh man, whoa, I… I can't believe you're actually here!"

Arthur's smirk relaxed into warmer smile; Alfred had not changed in the least. His face was still young and bright, his eyes still as deep a blue as the vast sky.

"I am."

"Wow. God, this is so cool."

Arthur laughed, "Is that all you can say?"

"Hold on sec…" Alfred murmured, rising from his seat and reaching out to touch Arthur's face. He tapped him on the nose, and then inched his hand upwards, stroking one of his eyebrows. Arthur pulled away quickly, huffing, and Alfred laughed.

"It really is you. How've you been?"

Arthur snorted, "Are you daft, of course it's me! And I've been doing well, thank you for asking."

"No problem."

"And how have you been…?"

Alfred grinned. "Everything's good. I finished my Masters in Computer Science last year and got a job working for General Motors, actually."

"Really?"

"Yup. Working on designing simulations and stuff to make cars safer."

Arthur smiled. "That would be something you would do."

"How do you mean?"

"You've always wanted to be the hero, right?" Arthur shrugged, "You're saving the lives of millions of people by preventing the accidents from happening."

Alfred beamed, "Fuck yeah, I am."

The two shared a laughed, and Arthur leaned back in his seat.

"You look tired," Alfred observed.

Arthur hummed, "A bit. I'm going to be leaving soon. I wanted to talk to you before I left."

"Dammit, if I'd known you were here sooner, I would've come up to ya. But I didn't see you here before."

"I only just arrived an hour ago. And you were dancing with Chelles, which would have been rude to interrupt…"

Alfred looked up at him quickly, "Oh, no, it would've been fine! She and I aren't, I mean, we're not like dating or anything!"

"Ah…"

Alfred gave a forced chuckle, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Too forceful?"

"A tad," Arthur grinned, rolling his eyes.

"I just didn't want you getting the wrong idea about us."

"Of course. Does that mean that you are dating someone else?"

"Nah," Alfred said with a flick of his wrist, but there was still something stiff about his posture that told Arthur there was more to the truth.

"But there is someone you are interested in," he said, not asking. Alfred shrugged.

"Maybe …"

"Who is it?" Arthur deadpan, and Alfred laughed.

"I'll give ya a hint, but you can't tell anyone who it is when you figured it out. If you figure it out, that is."

"Try me."

Alfred's hint wasn't verbal; instead, he put his hands in front of his chest and gestured a giant semi-circle.

"Alfred, that's hardly a polite thing to say about a woman, much less one that you supposedly have affections for. Poor Katyusha…"

Alfred sobered up, putting his arms on the table and leaning in, his voice dropping to a whisper, "It's not like that, man, I've just always wanted to do that. And it's not… I mean, I like her for a lot more than just her body. She's really sweet and nice and beautiful and she's so shy but also really interesting to talk with if you get into a subject she likes…"

Alfred trailed off, and there was no mistaking the goofy grin on his face, or the pink color in his ears. Arthur smiled, and patted the other's forearm gently.

"You should tell her. Every moment you don't is a moment you waste."

"I guess… Hey, where're you going?"

Arthur, who'd stood up, pushed his seat in and raised his eyebrows,

"I'm going home. I thought I just told you that."

"Yeah, but… so soon?"

Arthur sighed, "It's not as if I'm leaving for England again. I'll be around."

"Good. Then we'd better get to spend a whole day together soon, yeah? And Mattie will wanna see you too. He's off dancing with Gilbert now, and as much as I'd love to interrupt them, I get the feeling that'll put me on a lot of peoples' bad sides."

Arthur nodded, "Probably. You could always find Katyusha and ask her for a dance."

"With her crazy brother around? I'll pass."

Now the Briton frowned, remembering a conversation he had had with Ivan right before he left, "He's not really so bad, when you get to know him…"

Alfred looked at first incredulous, and when Arthur could not hold back a yawn he chuckled softly,

"Go on, old man. I don't want you falling asleep on me, so get yourself home."

As an afterthought, he added, "Will you need help getting there?"

"Francis is taking me, thank you."

"Ooo, Francis." Alfred sing-songed. "So you plan on being up for a while, then."

Arthur was ashamed at how quickly his cheeks flushed. "Of course not!"

Alfred laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder before pulling Arthur into a hug that was even tighter than Antonio's was.

"Goodnight, Artie."

"Goodnight, Alfred."

* * *

"So, how is Alfred doing?" Francis asked once the school doors had shut behind Arthur. The latter took a moment to adjust to the cold bite of the wind before he answered.

"He's fine. The same as ever, actually. But I guess you probably knew that."

"I cannot say that I did," he confessed, and Arthur quirked an eyebrow at Francis, taking his offered hand as nonchalantly as he could. Because he was certainly not embarrassed about taking the other's hand, it was a perfectly natural thing to do.

Francis chuckled as they started walking to his car, and it took Arthur a moment to reassure himself it was because of the look, and not because of his internal conflict.

"Well, I am afraid I sort of… lost contact with everyone."

"Everyone?" Arthur repeated, suddenly confused. "Even Antonio and Gilbert?"

"Well, not Antonio. Though I have not seen him face to face in a long while, either…"

"But why?" Arthur asked incredulously, "You were here!"

"So I was," Francis murmured with a heavy tone, pausing in front of a sleek black sedan that Arthur assumed was his. "I guess I do not really have an excuse, it is just how it happened."

Arthur paused for a moment, before sighing and walking around to the passenger side door, getting into the car once Francis had unlocked in. They remained in silence as they buckled their seat belts, still in silence as Francis turned the key in the ignition and started the car, and still in silence even as they took off down the street.

"So… How is Gilbert doing, then?" Arthur asked finally when the silence began to get to him. He could see Francis' lips quirk up into a smile.

"He is still as oblivious as ever. He truly cut off all ties, even with his own brother, if you can believe it, so tonight was a bit overwhelming for him."

"I can imagine…"

"Mhmm," Francis hummed. "Matthew had sent me an email earlier this week; apparently he still feels as strongly for Gilbert as he ever has."

"I can't imagine why."

Francis chuckled, "Everyone has someone out there for them, Arthur. And if Gilbert is the one for Matthew, it is not our place to judge."

Arthur gave a noncommittal grunt and leaned back against the headrest of his seat, prompting Francis to continue the story.

"He was asking me for advice, and I told him to be frank. But it would seem as though Matthew had chickened out, because by the time I had arrived they were still on opposite ends of the room, and neither showed any inclination to bridge that gap."

"That sounds like them."

"Yes. So, of course I had to intervene in the name of love. I sent Gilbert off to ask Matthew for a dance, and by the time I went to say goodbye they were so close they might as well have been one."

Arthur chuckled softly, and looked out the car window, only to find their surroundings to be slightly unfamiliar and completely unexpected.

"Francis?"

"Hm?"

"Where the fuck are you taking me? Did we just pass the town limits?"

"Relax, Arthur, you are being far too paranoid."

"You're kidnapping me!"

Francis laughed, leaning over and placing a palm on Arthur's knee, "Do you trust me?"

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up, and was grateful for the cover of darkness that would have made it impossible for Francis to see their rosy color.

"Of course not," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Then, why have you allowed me to keep my hand on your leg?"

Arthur, taken off guard, spluttered and could not come up with an answer quickly enough; Francis was already laughing.

"J-Just… focus on the road! Hasn't anyone taught you to keep both hands on the steering wheel at all times?"

Francis complied, removing his hand as his soft chuckles tapered off.

"Actually, Arthur, I am bringing you back to my apartment. I would like to spend more time with you."

"And if I don't want to?"

"Well, we are already well into the City. Actually, my house is only a few minutes away. Unless you would rather I turned back around…?"

"Yes, please," Arthur snapped bluntly.

"Too late," Francis countered in a jovial tone. "Your window of opportunity has closed. I am sorry, Arthur, but it seems as if you are stuck with me."

Arthur made an exasperated noise, but after a pause and a huff he demanded, "I am going to sleep in a different room, just so you know."

"But Arthur, my apartment only has one bedroom."

"I don't care," Arthur retorted, "You will do the polite thing and sleep on the couch."

Francis laughed and shook his head, "Alright. But do not come to me in the middle of night looking for comfort."

"Likewise," Arthur said with a delighted smirk, as Francis pulled into a parking space in front of a very tall building.

Francis, after shutting off the car, undid his seatbelt and smiled, "Welcome home," to Arthur, before leaving the car and helping Arthur out from the other side.

"I don't need your help," Arthur grumbled, but he did not shy away from the arm around his shoulder; when Francis laughed in his ear, he felt his cheeks go warm again.

"Oh my, are you blushing?"

"No!" he protested, a little too loudly. "I'm just tired…"

Francis surprised Arthur by sobering up, and the two walked into the building. In the elevator Francis hit '9', and within a few moments they were at his apartment door, and Francis was digging in his pocket for the keys.

It was a spacious apartment, Arthur observed. The furniture was, as expected of Francis, modern and sleek, mainly in blacks and whites and with a few splashes of red to give it character. There was a clean kitchen visible past the large entrance room, and off to the side there was what Arthur presumed was a hallway.

"What do you think?" Francis asked as he led the other in; Arthur hummed.

"It fits you, I suppose. Expensive looking, but without much going on."

Francis mocked offense, and rolled his eyes, "Well then, perhaps I should not tell you that I was lying earlier."

"About what?"

"I do have a guest bedroom that you are welcome to stay in tonight-"

Francis cut himself off, and suddenly he was standing very, very close to Arthur, "Unless, of course, you decided that you would like to spend it with me?"

Arthur hesitated, before pushing Francis away and scoffing, "You wish."

Francis sighed dramatically, "Very well then. Would you at least like a change of clothes? And perhaps something to drink?"

"Ah, well…" Arthur remembered the promise that he had made to himself earlier, and weighed it against the fact that alcohol was probably not going to do anything good for his headache the next morning.

Then he realized that he had nowhere to be and nothing to do the next day, and he smiled, "That would be very much appreciated."

Francis returned the smile, and then proceeded to lead Arthur down the hallway on a tour of the apartment. He pointed out the bathroom and hallway closet, before stopping in front of one of the bedrooms.

This room was just as modestly furnished as the living room had been, but the difference in design style had been obvious. While the outside had looked very modern, and verged on being cold, this room was friendly and warm. The bed was a handsome, wooden bed that Arthur figured was at least full, if not queen, sized, and was dressed in a red and orange comforter set that somehow matched the light beige shade of the walls. The room was carpeted in a plush mahogany carpet that Arthur imagined would be very comfortable under one's feet, and there was a small bureau with a large mirror and three drawers up against the side wall.

"This would be your room."

"For the night," Arthur added quickly, and then he found the he was embarrassed by the need to say that, especially when Francis gave him a strange, questioning look. He dropped it quickly, however, sighing deeply and nodding,

"Yes, for the night. Now, then, would you like to see my bedroom?"

Arthur shrugged, and Francis decided to accept that as a 'yes', apparently, as he took Arthur's hand in his and pulled him into the room down the hall.

"And this would be my room," he introduced, turning the knob and pushing the door open. Arthur was almost in awe; while the rest of the house was modestly, if not handsomely, furnished, this room was packed, almost to bursting. The most prominent element was, appropriately, the bed; it was king sized and made of cherry wood, and there was a quilt on it now that had seemed to be too small for it; Arthur realized that it was because it had been one on his bed the last time he had seen Francis' bed.

And then, suddenly, everything in the room became familiar; in the corner Arthur could see the two beanbag chairs Francis used to sit on with his friends, and on the bureau there were old photographs beside old knickknacks.

Arthur chuckled, squeezing the other's hand, "You really are packrat, aren't you?"

Francis gave a boisterous laugh, "Guilty as charged, Arthur. Now, then, let us get you some more comfortable clothes…"

He release Arthur's hand and went into one of the drawers of the bureau, taking out a simple cotton pair of pajamas.

"These should fit," he mused, "after all, it appears as if we are the same height, now."

Arthur hadn't noticed, but now that he knew, it became painfully obvious that he was perfectly eye to eye with Francis. He had forgotten how beautiful and blue those eyes were…

Shaking it off, Arthur agreed, "Y-Yes, well, I have grown since I was eighteen. Surely you didn't expect me to remain the same short height."

Francis shrugged, "I do not think I considered it. Feel free to go into your room and change, and then you can meet me out in the kitchen for a drink."

Arthur nodded, and Francis shut the door behind him when he left.

A few minutes later, after Arthur had taken his time to relish the weightlessness of having the tired clothes off his body and had changed into the loaned nightclothes, he padded slowly across the hardwood floors of the hallway and headed for the kitchen area, where Francis was sitting on a stool, waiting for him with two glasses of champagne in his hands.

Waiting for him with two glasses champagne in his hands, and without a shirt on.

Taking one of the glasses, Arthur tried very hard not to stare, rolling his eyes and scoffing,

"You tease. You want sex that bad?"

Francis laughed at took a sip, "That depends; what do I have to answer to make you say yes?"

"I should have expected this," Arthur muttered, sitting up on a stool and taking a sip, "Once a pervert, always a pervert."

Francis hummed and took another small sip, smacking his lips lightly, "Well, actually, I have been celibate for the past ten and a half years."

Arthur almost choked on the champagne he'd been drinking, a coughed a few times until he recovered. Francis was giving him a look that tried to be stern, but came off as more amused than anything else.

"C-Celibate? Arthur gasped, his coughs turning into laughter, "You?"

Francis shrugged, "Well, I tried and succeeded in seducing several beautiful woman, and the occasional man, even. But I could never bring myself to get past a shirtless make out session."

"Fft, figures," Arthur snorted.

"And do you know why I could never get into it, Arthur?" Francis asked softly. Arthur did not meet his gaze, and instead watched as Francis traced his finger around the rim of his champagne glass.

"No, but I assume you're going to tell me anyways."

"It is because every time I am in bed with a partner, all I can think of is you. The way your blush spreads down your chest, the way your nipples stand erect and how sensitive they are, the way your erec-"

"I get it!" Arthur shouted, already feeling his cheeks heat up dangerously. "You didn't do it because you were thinking of me. So what?"

Francis' eyebrow quirked and he sighed heavily.

"Well, I was hoping that would mean something to you."

Arthur downed the rest of the glass in one sip and stood up, "Well, no, it doesn't, so if you'll excuse me I think I'll be heading off to bed now."

But Arthur did not expect that things would be so easy, so he was hardly surprised when Francis grabbed onto his wrist and held him in place. What did surprise him, though, was the sudden music, soft and slow and all too familiar, that tugged at his heartstrings when it started up.

"Francis…?"

When Arthur looked, Francis was putting a small remote down on the countertop, presumably belonging to whatever music stereo system was now crooning that song. Their song, Arthur realized.

"Dance with me."

Arthur did not respond, and so Francis asked again, his tone much softer as he ran his fingers through a lock of Arthur's hair.

"Dance with me, and I will let you be for the rest of the night. Just one song."

Arthur sighed, "You should have asked me earlier. I'm tired."

"Please?" Francis pleaded, and Arthur sighed.

"One dance, Francis, and that's it."

Francis nodded, bringing Arthur's palm up to kiss the back of his hand. Then, not wasting another second, he pulled Arthur to his bare chest and started to lead them in a gentle sway, still standing right there in his kitchen.

Arthur found the entire situation to be ridiculous, but Francis' body was giving off comfortable warmth and his arms were strong around Arthur's waist, and soon he found that even though there was some force involved it was gentle, and almost wanted.

And then Arthur came to the conclusion that he was far more tired that he had realized, and probably even a little drunk, because there was no other way in this whole wide world that Francis could have managed to get Arthur back in his arms on the very evening that he had returned from England, as if he had never left.

'_But_,' a small nagging voice in his mind reminded him, '_you want this_. _And you've been dreaming about this since you got on that plane and left a decade ago._'

Wordlessly, Arthur rested his head on Francis' shoulder, telling himself he was just tired and it was comfortable. Thankfully, Francis did not question it.

A moment later, Arthur felt the comfortable weight of Francis' head rested upon his, and they remained that way, moving slowly back and forth while leaving no space between their bodies, for what felt to Arthur like ages and yet, like nothing at all.

"Arthur…?" Francis murmured heavily beside his ear, his voice as thick as honey.

"Mhmm?"

"The song ended…"

And in the way Francis trailed off, Arthur heard a soft plead, a subtle question. So, he answered the only way he could; his lips quirked up into a smile, which brushed just so against Francis' neck.

Arthur could feel in Francis' smile in the way that the other's body had somehow become lighter in his own.

Then Arthur pulled back, to Francis' obvious disappointment, and pressed his fingers gently against Francis' gently, stroking his stubble with ashy finger pads.

"Don't think this means that we will be sleeping in the same room," he murmured, surprised by the huskiness of his own tone. "But…"

The hand slid from Francis' cheek to cradle the back of his head, and Arthur leaned in slowly, finally pressing his lips to Francis' own, which were parted in his shock and surprise.

Then Arthur allowed his other hand to rest upon Francis' warm, bare chest and the other finally snapped out of his shock and began to kiss fervently back, making up for all the years of missed affection in that one moment of intimacy.

And in that moment, even though the kitchen tiles were cold underneath Arthur's feet, and even though his skull was pounding just as powerfully as his heart, Arthur got the feeling that they were going to be alright.

All of them were going to be alright.

_

* * *

End_

A/N: What else can I say, really? Thank you to everyone who's gone on this journey with me, to everyone who's reviewed every chapter, and even to those who have not. You guys are all really amazing! :3

And yeah, who doesn't love a happy ending? :)

crimson-obsidian-rose


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